The Truth About Elves DISCONTINUED
by Blue Kat
Summary: The result of one man's imagination becomes another's reality with the death of a loved one. The roles of fantasy and reality have been reversed, creating both confusion and adventure in their wake. Discontinued as of June 06
1. Chapter 1: Tumbling

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own _The Lord of the Rings_ or anything associated with it. It all belongs to Tolkien bows to the genius so don't sue me.

Author's Note: Before we begin, a few notes from the author…

This idea was first conceived sometime in the summer of 2002 and first published on fanfiction.net that August. I continued writing it for nearly two years. I had reached thirty-seven chapters when, with the help of some constructive criticism, I realized that there were some things that I wanted and probably needed to fix in this story. So, this is the new and improved REVISED version of _The Truth About Elves_.

I am a big fan of movie verse for fanfic. I find it considerably easier to write than using the books because it's considerably simpler than the books (and I'd also rather not rewrite the books). However, just because I use movie verse does not mean I haven't read the books and have no appreciation for Tolkien's work. I first read the books at eleven, well before the movies first came out. The reason I use the movie verse is, again, simplicity (and a visual is very helpful).

Regarding reviews…I love reviews. I'm a total review junkie. Who isn't? I appreciate constructive criticism—it helps me grow as a writer. Flames are not appreciated much at all—if you have something to say, I prefer that you express your opinion in an eloquent and civil manner rather than in a string of profane accusations. I will be much more inclined to listen to your opinion if you present it in a courteous manner.

A general warning: This narrative will contain some sarcastic humor, which some find distasteful, so I thought it would be best to include this warning. It's rated PG-13 for some minor language (rating may change as the story progresses). The romance in this story is also very slow in developing, so ye be warned. There will also be some places were it will fail to adhere to Jackson and Tolkien's precise vision. I ask you to be patient with me and wait and see where the story goes. If you're more of a purist when it comes to Tolkien's work, and you find this fic is not for you, there is a lovely little 'back' button on the browser that will return you to the main page and leave you peruse the fics until you find one to your liking.

And finally, an apology to my readers: I admit, I was not very tactful in picking an ideal place in the story to stop and revise and I apologize for that. I looked over some of what I had written and came to the conclusion that I could be doing much better and decided to revise rather than abandon this story. Hopefully, it won't take overly long and we can quickly go on our merry little way.

Now that I've yapped for a solid page or so, I believe it is time to begin the new and (hopefully) improved…

**_The Truth About Elves_**

**By Blue Kat**

_Prologue_

_The dirt hit the coffin with finality, increasing the acute grief that had been growing within me. The polished black surface was slowly covered with handfuls of dirt dropped in by the mourners. I looked at the rich soil clamped tightly in my hand._

_I could not do it._

_I could not help bury her._

_Her memory was so strong that it was nearly impossible for me to accept her death as factual. I repeatedly pinched my forearm; half expecting to awaken from what I prayed was a nightmare._

_But I never woke up, and my nightmare became my reality._

_The painful realization that she was truly gone intensified as I watched the coffin slowly disappear beneath the earth. A lone tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the black soil envelope the dark wood, warmly receiving the departed soul, the final destination of all who live._

**_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…_**

_It was, of course, the natural cycle of things—the circle of life, if you will. But all I could see as I stared into that yawning grave was an endless tunnel of misery, stemming directly from the pain within my own heart._

_I let the dirt fall from my tight clutch on to the well-kept lawn beside me, a lump forming in my throat. I plucked a white rose from a flower arrangement placed at the head of the grave and held it in my hands, marveling at its delicacy and perfection. I memorized the way the petals folded out from the center, how the thorns gracefully protruded from the stem, the sweet perfume mingling with the harsh scent of the earth, the soft touch of the petals against my cheek. Finally, I let it slip from my fingertips and fall gracefully into the grave, a bit of beauty against the dull grey earth._

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**Chapter One: Tumbling**

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"She asked that you have this," the social worker explained, handing me an aged shopping bag. She looked out of place, sitting on the cheerful floral printed couch in her non-descript grey pantsuit. Her dark thin hair was scrupulously combed into a tight bun and held together by an army of bobby pins. Her face was sharp and angular with no signs of make-up. The small lines in her forehead and at the corners of her mouth and the rigid way she carried herself made her seem more like an overworked, overtired businesswoman, hardened by the competition of the office, rather than a kind social worker who decided to dedicate her life to helping children.

I rose from my seat.

"If it's all right…I'd like to be alone when I open it," I said quietly, planning to escape to the freedom of the outdoors. "I'll just be outside. I won't be long."

"Well…" she mused, "I suppose that would be fine…but don't go too far."

"I'll just be in the woods. You can call me if you need me."

"All right." She dismissed me with a curt nod.

I slipped out the back door. The sky was bleak and grey, matching my mood, and muting the colors of the surrounding landscape. The small dirt trail off the patio beckoned to me. I followed it onward, through a bit of woods, across a stream, and up a hill to my place. My secret place. It was there that I did my best thinking. It was my shelter when I needed to be alone.

I sat down on the rock, feeling the familiar grooves beneath me. A warm feeling of contentment seeped through me and I felt at peace for the first time since she died.

Aunt Kate.

A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of my lips as her name echoed through my mind. She was my great-aunt, and only existing relative, as far as I knew. My parents had left me with her when I was two, planning to send for me when they became financially stable.

I never heard from them again.

She was, quite simply, my everything—mother, father, best friend, and confidante. When it became clear that my parents were not going to return for me, she had immediately set about becoming my legal guardian, as I had no other living relatives to take me in. I was really too small to remember it—save for many suit-wearing men and women coming to our house for long meetings that could not hold my short attention span for more than a few minutes. Most of my information about this period of time came from Edna, Aunt Kate's best friend.

"She was on the phone for hours at a time, arguing with lawyers and all kinds of legal authorities," Edna told me many a time, usually over a plate of warm cookies and a glass of cold, creamy milk. It was an old story that I never really tired of hearing. "I once walked in when she was quarreling with her attorney, Mr. Lawson—you remember him, don't you? Rather portly gentleman with large glasses and that ridiculous toupee that Kate says reminds her of road kill. Well, I've never seen her look angrier. 'I'll tell you one thing, Harold,' she was saying as I walked in the door. 'This is my grandniece we're talking about. If you can't get find those papers and get them processed by Monday, then only God Himself will be able to spare you from the tongue-lashing _I'll_ give you.' Then she slammed the phone down so hard she cracked the plastic on the receiver." She would normally shake her head with a sigh at this point, looking at the ceiling with the regret of a parent who failed to teach their child proper manners. "Kate's always argued something terrible with lawyers," she would end, pausing a moment before launching into another story.

We had a unique relationship—I suppose I regarded her more as a dear friend rather than an imposing parental figure. We hardly ever fought, which was unusual to say the least. I found that when parental difficulties were brought up at the lunch table, I had very little to contribute, much to the envy of my peers.

"You have it _so_ easy, Haley," was a common lament often expressed. I would brush it off with a shrug and a smile, not knowing how soon my seemingly perfect life would come to a devastating end.

I arrived home late on a Wednesday afternoon in early March. The snow was just beginning to melt and the sidewalks and roadways were layered with an icy slush, deep enough in some places to submerge one's entire foot, soaking both shoes and socks in a dirty sludge. My backpack was unusually heavy—I had tests in nearly all my classes the next day as well as several projects due at the end of the week. Stress was weighing heavily on my shoulders as I trudged up the front steps, tired, but glad to be home.

The front door creaked ominously open as I stepped over the threshold, wiping my shoes on the rug. The house was unusually cold and dark. I set my backpack down uneasily as I entered the house, slightly wary, every dark shadow more imposing and frightening than normal. I knew Aunt Kate hadn't been planning on running any errands that day, and if she did, she would be certain to leave a light on for me.

"Aunt Kate?" I shouted as I shed my coat, dropping it on the living room chair. My voice echoed oddly before evaporating into nothing, my call going unanswered. I walked apprehensively through the empty house, flipping on lights as I went. I entered the kitchen, searching the refrigerator and table for an explanatory note. I jumped as something crunched under my feet. The shattered remnants of a coffee mug lay on the kitchen floor, the remaining coffee a wet and sticky mess on the linoleum. I swallowed nervously. Something was not right. The number five was flashing repeatedly on the answering machine display. I relaxed slightly, hoping she had left a message explaining her absence.

"You have…five… new messages," the robotic voice intoned choppily when I pressed the 'play' button. "Message…one…"

"Haley, honey?" Edna's sweet voice sounded over the speaker, slightly worried. There were other muted voices in the background, regularly interrupted by a steady, repetitive beeping sound. "It's Edna…you need to come to the hospital. There's been an accident."

I flew out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, not waiting to hear the end of Edna's message. I snatched the car keys from their place on the key rack, not bothering to grab my jacket as I ran out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me.

My foot pressed heavily on the accelerator as I drove, going at least thirty miles over the posted speed limit. I blinked furiously, trying to hold back the frightened tears that were threatening to spill down my cheeks.

The drive seemed to take ages, the minutes seeming to span into hours. I finally arrived at the hospital and slid into the first available parking space. I tore out of the car and ran into the building, tears and anxiety nearly choking me.

I arrived at the front desk, in tears and nearing hysteria, and scaring the poor receptionist half to death. When I finally managed to blubber out my aunt's name, she had a nurse escort me to the emergency room.

I found Edna sitting nervously in the waiting room, twisting her handkerchief tightly in her hands. She relaxed slightly when she caught sight of me, though her brow crinkled in slight worry when she took notice of the tears on my cheeks. She sat me down on the chair next to her and held me while I cried, rubbing my back gently. It wasn't anything to get this upset about, she explained—Aunt Kate had just had a bit of heart trouble and gave everyone quite a scare, that's all. I wept on her shoulder, still too frightened to find relief in her words.

It was several hours before they allowed either of us to enter the room. Edna had to negotiate quite a bit for them to allow her entrance—she _was_, after all, practically family, she told the young red-haired doctor who tried to impede her progress. I don't know whether he was new to the practice and easily intimidated or simply tried to avoid arguing with women old enough to be his grandmother, but he relented after a moment of badgering from Edna, warning the both of us to keep it quiet.

The anxiety and fear of Aunt Kate's unknown ailment was nothing compared to the intense emotions that assaulted me as I entered the room. She lay limply upon the hospital bed, her nearly lifeless limbs reminiscent of a rag doll. Fluids and medicines were being administered via the various plastic tubes and IV's inserted in her arms. The heart monitor beeped shrilly in the background, a constant reminder that each beat could very well be her last.

My hand flew to my mouth in order to suppress the tears I knew were coming. Her eyelids were shut, her eyes flickering back and forth beneath the lids, lost to some dreamland. Her lips were parted slightly, her shoulders rising with every shallow breath. Lines that had not dared to grace her countenance that morning gathered near her hairline and at the corners of her mouth and eyes. Her cheeks were devoid of color, making her look even more sallow and sickly. Her hair, usually sleek and neatly brushed back in a bun, was frizzy and coming slightly undone in the back. A bittersweet smile briefly graced my lips. She was so proud of her hair, which had very few streaks of grey and remained very thick and glossy, despite her age.

"When you get to be an old dinosaur like me," she often recited as she pinned up her hair in front of the mirror, "having some natural color other than grey or white left in your roots is enough cause for celebration. And celebrate I will." She would end this monologue with one final elaborate sweep of the brush before marching off to complete whatever was next on her agenda.

I gulped and tried to swallow my sobs as Edna patted my back gently.

"Now hush," she whispered kindly, but firmly. "The worst of it is over now. She'll be just fine. What she _doesn't_ need to see is her grandniece worrying herself half to death, because that will just agitate her condition and you don't want that, do you?" I shook my head and wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. Edna had a way of being compassionate and logical at the same time, a combination which never failed to either straighten me up or calm me down. "There, now," the petite woman murmured reassuringly, "nice calming breaths. That's what they taught me at my yoga class, you know. Find your center." She shut her eyes and inhaled dramatically, more for my entertainment than anything. I cracked a smile and wiped the remaining tears from my eyes.

"Edna, what kind of nonsense are you feeding my grandniece now?" a weak, but blessedly familiar voice demanded from the hospital bed. Aunt Kate was in the process of propping herself up. "Oh hell's bells," she muttered, throwing an irritated glance at the various machines, tubes, and wires around her bed.

"Now, Kate, don't overexert yourself," Edna chastised, going over to assist my aunt. "This is for your own good, you know."

"More trouble than it's worth," she replied, settling into a sitting position. "I'm as healthy as a horse; no need to make a fuss over a little heart palpitation." Edna rolled her eyes and set her purse down in the seat near the bed. "How was school, sweetheart?"

I sat down in a chair and began talking, informing her of the minor happenings that had occurred during the day; Caitlin broke up with Brett during fifth period; Sara got a really cute haircut, but she absolutely hates it and wore a hat for half the day; Mrs. Hennessy assigned an impossible project that she wants by the end of next week and half the class failed the essay test; Louis' behavior had once again earned him the familiar epithet of "The Pervert"; and Brittany dropped her tray in the lunch line and got ketchup all over Margaret's shoes. She smiled and laughed at the appropriate times and inquired as to how I did on my French quiz ("C minus. Madame hates me") and whether or not I had any plans for the weekend. It was almost impossible to believe that we were sitting in a hospital rather than at home discussing all this over a cup of hot cocoa.

"Excuse me," the red haired doctor said, sticking his head in the room, "Ms. Logan needs to rest. I'm going to have to ask you to sit in the waiting room." Aunt Kate rolled her eyes and gave a derisive snort.

"Oh for heaven's sake, I feel as though I could run a marathon. I don't need to rest. What I need to do is go home, finish cleaning the bathroom, and get this girl some dinner," she informed the doctor, shaking her index finger for emphasis.

"Doctor's orders, Ms. Logan," he replied, slightly bemused by my aunt's rebellious and snappy attitude. "We're going to keep you under observation for a couple more hours and see how you do. But right now, you need to rest. You can visit with your family in a few hours."

"Well girls, the Doctor Has Spoken," she said, sweeping her arm dramatically. The doctor smiled good-naturedly and shut the door behind him, giving us a private moment to wrap things up. "Haley, darling, come here for a moment," she beckoned, waving me over to the side of the bed. "Don't you worry about me," she said softly and reassuringly. "I'll be just fine. If I could survive those terrible brownies of yours, then I can survive anything." I smiled, momentarily reflecting on the baking disaster that had nearly destroyed the mixer. "One more thing," she said, grasping my hand gently, "do you remember your favorite bedtime story?" My forehead wrinkled slightly at the peculiar question.

"Of course," I replied, reflecting for a moment on the elaborate tales she fashioned for my entertainment. How could I forget such wonderful stories? I was the protagonist, a somewhat supernatural denizen of a magical world, constantly embarking on perilous fairytale adventures that always involved copious amounts of magic and enchantment. Hearing those mystical stories was perhaps the highlight of my day and one of my favorite childhood memories.

"Good." She squeezed my hand gently. "I was thinking about them this morning. I…" She faltered for a moment, seeming to search for the right words. "Just…don't forget them." I nodded, puzzled by her odd request.

"I won't," I promised, squeezing her hand in return. She smiled softly.

"Now, you two better get out of here before the Warden returns," she continued, her old, quirky humor returning. Edna raised her eyebrows reprovingly and retrieved her purse from the seat beside her.

"Like I said, Kate, it's all for your own good," she replied, patting her shoulder gently. Aunt Kate sighed and made a face.

"Nonsense, that's what I think it is," she countered. I smiled at their humorous banter and opened the door.

"Take care of yourself and get some rest. And listen to the doctor," I said in parting. I didn't catch her response, but I think it was something along the lines of "Oh heavens, Haley, don't you start with this nonsense too."

Edna and I situated ourselves in the pink upholstered waiting room chairs and took advantage of the numerous back issues of _People_. I fell asleep after an hour of reading up on the Bennifer breakup, my head resting gently on Edna's shoulder.

Aunt Kate suffered a massive heart attack around eight o'clock that night, while I slept on unsuspectingly in the waiting room. Edna didn't wake me until it was too late.

I never got a chance to say goodbye.

The sorrow and confusion that followed her passing was nearly unbearable. While Edna had been designated as my legal guardian, a complicated legal process was still involved. It was a mirror image of the past—only now it was Edna arguing over the phone with lawyers and abusing the receiver, while I sat quietly in the corner, watching my life unravel around me.

I had nothing. No home. No parents.

And my eighteenth birthday was barely a month away.

The wind brushed gently against my damp cheeks and I realized that I had inadvertently stumbled into a dreamlike reverie. I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, trying to calm the intense grief that was rising once again in my heart. The shopping bag at my feet rustled softly as the breeze whipped against its fragile paper sides, seeming to demand my attention. I reached cautiously inside the bag and withdrew a small white envelope.

'Haley,' it read in that familiar looped script. I smiled softly and broke the seal, removing a small, folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, smiling at the familiar floral printed stationery she used for almost everything. The printed date in the corner was thirteen months prior to her death.

_Haley, my dear,_

_Please know that I love you dearly and will always be with you in spirit. You have brought so much joy to me and I am so blessed to have you in my life._

_The information contained in this letter is of an extremely important nature. It was supposed to be disclosed to you upon the event of your eighteenth birthday. However, should anything happen to me prior to that date, I have instructed my lawyer to give this to you._

_The bedtime stories I told you had a partial truth to them. The Elven lineage disappeared from this earth many years ago; though there are some who believe it simply lay dormant. I have reason to believe that it has surfaced in you. I know this must sound absolutely ridiculous, but you must believe me. You must return to your home._

_All my love,_

_Aunt Kate_

I stared blankly at the letter, my lips parted in shock. I reread it several times in succession, wondering if my eyes had been playing tricks on me, if I had perhaps missed a crucial sentence. The letters and meaning remained the same, each reading leaving me more confused than the last.

The most unnerving part about the entire letter was that I had no reason to doubt her. She had always been a dreamer, but she was well aware of the line between fantasy and reality. There had never been an instance where she acted odd enough to suggest imbalance—even on her deathbed she had remained perfectly down to earth and well aware of her surroundings. My hands trembled slightly. She was trying to tell me something important, but I did not have the slightest idea as to what she was aiming at.

I peered into the bag and removed a shoebox that had been tucked neatly within the bag's embrace, coughing slightly as the musty smell of the attic wafted through the cardboard. I removed the lid and folded back the tissue paper inside to find three green leather-bound books, their titles embossed in gold print. I wrapped my fingers around the fat stack and removed them from the sea of tissue, dropping the box back into the bag. I peered at the first book inquisitively.

'Tolkien,' the bold capitalized letters stared blankly back at me. It was a name very familiar in our house—one of Aunt Kate's most favorite writers. She often praised and quoted his works and called him a literary genius. I myself had very little to say about the man. At her insistence, I had tried to read his most well-known works _The Lord of the Rings_. I got to the third chapter of the first book and simply wasn't able to continue, not finding much interest in furry-footed hobbits and the like. Aunt Kate had simply shook her head and said I'd appreciate it when I was older.

The same books I had attempted to plow through nearly five years earlier now sat in my lap, the gold titles winking up at me. I thumbed through each book in turn, searching for an inscription that would help make sense of the mysterious letter. I found only the words Tolkien had written and absolutely nothing from my aunt.

I bent down to retrieve the note from where it had fallen from my lap, thinking that maybe another reading would help sort things out. As my fingers barely graced the page, the wind swept it off the grass and into the air. I tucked the books under my arm and chased after the flimsy paper skating mockingly on the breeze. I made a swipe with my right hand, crumpling the paper in my grasp. I allowed myself a small smirk of victory.

Unfortunately, my success was only momentary, as a piece of uneven turf caught my by surprise, causing me to trip and fall. Propelled by the momentum, I began my quick descent down the south side of the hill, the entire scene rather reminiscent of Buttercup's fall in _The Princess Bride_.

However, Buttercup was substantially more tolerant of her fall than I was. The entire woodland echoed with curse after curse, as various and unlucky sticks and stones dug painfully into my body.

A decrease in slope eventually allowed me to slow down and I was able to roll to a stop. I rested on my back for a moment, scratched, bruised, and rather winded, staring up at the cold grey sky. After a while, I found the strength and motivation to right myself. Pulling myself up to an upright position, I set about examining the books and letter. The letter was rather wrinkled and slightly dirty as result of the abuse it had endured, but intact. Satisfied, I tucked it into my jacket pocket and turned my attention to the books. My breath caught in my throat and I examined the pages with a mounting panic.

They were completely blank.

Ruling out a bizarre reality show as a possible explanation, I struggled to my feet, attempting to brush off the forest debris with my hand. Deciding that the washing machine would be the more effective option, I readjusted the books in my arms and prepared to climb back up the hill and return home; thinking a nap and a shower might produce some answers.

It was at that point that I realized that my surroundings had changed completely. The forest would have normally stopped twenty feet from where I was standing, revealing Mrs. Jacobson's backyard. Instead, the forest extended in all directions, with no end in sight. Even the hill behind me was unfamiliar, strewn with boulders and large trees that had not been there before.

However disturbing these changes were, they produced nothing like the fear I felt when I realized that there were two strangely clad men standing directly in front of me, their arrows aimed at my throat.


	2. Chapter 2: Captive

Disclaimer: Actually, I'm really Peter Jackson in disguise and I do…heh. Can't resist that little bit of sarcasm. No, don't own anything, never have, never will. Moving on…

**Chapter Two: Captive**

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I stood in silence, hardly daring to breathe. Adrenaline rushed through my body and my heart pounded in my ears. I carefully regarded my captors. The one on my left was fair-haired and tall and had what appeared to be the temperament of a drenched cat. His mouth was set in a firm line, his brow furrowed, giving me the impression that he would not hesitate to shoot me, if given the chance. His clothing appeared to be of some medieval era and his hair was unusually long for a man, falling slightly past his shoulders. The odd part was that it looked like he actually brushed it. His ears, I noticed, were rather misshapen and somewhat pointed, reminiscent of the Vulcans from _Star Trek_. The other man who stood on my right was somewhat shorter than the other, but equally blonde and groomed. However, his disposition seemed more agreeable then the other and he appeared to possess an inner calmness that his companion lacked. Like the first one, he was clad in clothing that had probably been very hip in the twelfth century. I noted with slight fear, that his ears were also strangely shaped.

The most logical conclusion I could arrive at was that they were either hippy die-hard Trekkies who had just robbed a Renaissance Fair or complete lunatics. Either way, it didn't look good for me.

"Who are you?" I finally managed, my knees trembling in fear. I could almost hear nature hold its breath in the silence, waiting.

"I believe that is the question _we_ are entitled to ask, as _you_ happen to be trespassing," snapped the first one. They did not lower their bows.

"_Excuse_ me?" I demanded, placing a hand on my hip for emphasis. While I was well aware of the danger I was in, I did not take kindly to a tight-wearing man of doubtful sanity telling me to get off my own property.

"These are dark times," interjected the other. "Strangers can no longer wander freely in the realm of Lord Elrond."

"You must be mistaken," I replied, feeling slightly more unnerved than before. "This land belongs to my aunt." The two men exchanged glances.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with us," the first one requested gruffly. My mouth dropped open and I exhaled sharply.

"Not to be rude, but _what_ are you smoking?" I countered, trying to keep my voice from quavering. I was completely terrified now, all the murders, rapes, and abductions on the news seeming incredibly real and all the more petrifying now that I was in a similar situation. "There is no way that I'm going _anywhere_ with two psychos who are desperately out of touch with reality—"

The creak of their bows silenced me.

"I will only ask once more," the first one warned seriously, his eyes narrowed.

I swallowed. "Alright," I submitted, hoping that I could buy myself some time and escape before they tried to hurt me.

The man on my right lowered his bow and motioned for me to follow him. I meekly stepped forward and trailed after him while the other continued after me, his arrow aimed at my back, a constant reminder of my predicament.

My thoughts raced as we continued through the trees, my heart beating about a million times a minute. The wind whipped through the trees, carrying faint whispers and warnings in a language that was unfamiliar to me. I shuddered slightly and kneaded my ears with my knuckles. __

_Keep yourself together,_ I thought quietly to myself. Hearing things would definitely not help my situation—I had to stay sharp. The voices continued, despite my attempts at silencing them. I began to panic, nearly jumping out of my skin when a twig cracked beneath the sole of my shoe. The strange words on the wind coupled with my current state of captivity brought me to a level of intense anxiety and fear that I had never experienced before. My foot caught under a lone root and I stumbled and fell to the ground. The forest floor suddenly pitched violently beneath me and I leaned forward and vomited.

Once I had finished emptying out the contents of my stomach, I leaned backwards and collapsed. The dizzying relief that accompanies the cessation of nausea flooded my senses and the voices quieted for a moment, reduced to a barely audible whisper. The relaxed feeling quickly abated as one of the men approached me. My heartbeat escalated and my hands began to tremble. I drew my knees toward my chest, observing him fearfully.

"Please don't hurt me," I implored him, my voice low and croaky. He knelt down beside me and pressed a handkerchief into my hand.

"We have no intention of harming you," he said calmly. "Lord Elrond is just. You will be treated fairly." I regarded him quietly. Lord Elrond…where had I heard that name before? I shook that thought out of my head and wiped my mouth with the handkerchief. He appeared less intimidating than he had been a few moments ago—but would I be able to trust him? I stared quietly at the ground, realizing that I had no other choice. I gave a tentative nod, still wary about the whole situation.

"Drink this." The other had lowered his bow and handed a silver flask to me. I looked at it suspiciously.

"We mean you no harm," the first one repeated. I must have still looked uneasy because he gave a small sigh, took the flask from me, and took a generous mouthful of the liquid inside, swallowing purposely. I nodded as the flask was passed back into my hands and took a small sip. The liquid was cool and soothing against my throat, the sweet flavor completely eliminating the bitter taste that lingered in my mouth. I allowed myself a few more swallows before returning the flask. I rose to my feet, my knees still shaking slightly.

"Thank you," I managed, drawing in a deep breath.

The kind one smiled as he stood up. The other raised his bow.

"Precautions," he explained gruffly. "It's required." I nodded slightly and continued after the other, resuming our original course.

An eerie silence fell over the forest, the strange whispers oddly quiet. The sounds of leaves and twigs rustling underneath my feet seemed thunderous in the stillness. I became skittish, feeling as though someone or something was watching me. In effort to ease my apprehension, I allowed my mind to wander.

Lord Elrond…the name echoed throughout my mind. I had heard it somewhere before and it was nagging at me incessantly. As I racked my brain for answers, the trees suddenly gave way and I found myself face-to-face with the end of a huge cliff. I stumbled backwards. The rush I felt as I stared down into the river below was enough to make my knees shake. I looked in quiet awe at the scenery that surrounded me. Rushing waterfalls spilled out of the cliff faces, landing with a whisper into the river below. Trees and other vegetation crowded the hills beyond the cliffs, creating a beautiful emerald carpet that stretched lazily out into the distance. The soft breeze carried a delightful earthy smell mingled with the scent of flowers and pine. It was so incredibly beautiful, giving the illusion that Mother Nature herself had blessed the place with ethereal beauty.

It suddenly became very clear to me that I was no longer anywhere near my home. It was easier to ignore when I was walking in the forest; after all, there had been portions of the land that I had not yet explored. But I knew fully well that there was not the slightest possible chance that we had a river valley complete with waterfalls in the backyard that I had neglected to notice.

I frantically searched the surrounding landscape, looking for a familiar landmark that would indicate where home lay. Instead, they fell upon an architectural splendor. In simplest terms, it was a gazebo on steroids, with many breezeways and trellised rooms, twining around the cliff. The detail and intricacy was incredible, far too perfect to be made by human hands. It was the epitome of perfection, a divine structure so flawlessly beautiful, that words will never do it proper justice.

"What is this place?" I asked finally, my eyes wide in both wonder and fear.

"This is Rivendell."


	3. Chapter 3: Revelation

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Except my extra special scared copy of the _Lord of the Rings_ with the movie art covers and the equally revered DVDs. But other then that, a Legolas and Gimli action figure, and two bookmarks, everything else belongs to other people…they can figure it out.

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**Chapter Three: Revelation**

****

I soon learned that the beauty of Rivendell was not limited to the outside.

I stood quietly in a room somewhere in the middle of the building, openly gaping at my surroundings. The ceiling was very high, supported by graceful fluted columns that sprang forth from the unblemished stone floor beneath my feet. Several paintings hung upon the walls, some depicting glorious battles while others were portraits of proud men and women. The immense skill and talent of the artists was breathtaking. They were gorgeous, the colors blending so perfectly, making it nearly impossible to believe that they were not photographs.

The kind man suddenly cleared his throat rather loudly and I jumped slightly. I tore my eyes away from the paintings as a tall man entered the room. He was very poised and elegant, regarding me with the cool stare of a king. His hair was very long and dark, fashioned into a complicated style that I could never properly describe nor even begin to comprehend how he managed it. Plain brown robes of a fine cloth hung crisply in place and a small circlet of woven silver rested primly on his head.

And just when I thought that things could not get any more bizarre, I noticed that he also had pointed ears.

_Suddenly the world is full of people with pointed ears,_ I thought quietly to myself, looking down at the floor as he regarded me with an icy stare. The kinder man cleared his throat again. I looked up at him silently. He bent his head down slightly and looked at me expectantly. I obediently made an awkward bow, slightly confused.

"Amdir, Celebfân," the man greeted, nodding at the two men. The kind man seemed to take this as an invitation to speak.

"We found a stranger wandering in the woods, Lord Elrond," he explained, nodding slightly at me. The man whom he had addressed as Lord Elrond looked at me for a moment before speaking.

"Does she speak the Common Tongue?" he inquired.

"Yes, my lord." Lord Elrond nodded before fixing his gaze upon me once again and addressing me in a superior tone.

"Who are you and what business brings you to Rivendell?" he asked. I swallowed nervously.

"My name is Haley Logan and I haven't the slightest idea as to what you're talking about," I replied, feigning confidence. Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"Please explain yourself," he requested calmly.

"I was taking a walk when they—" I jerked my head in Celefân and Amdir's direction (though I did not know which was which), "—assaulted me."

"She claimed that this land belonged to a relation of hers," the other broke in, narrowing his eyes slightly at me. "We brought her back as ordered and did her no harm." Elrond nodded thoughtfully. I opened my mouth to retaliate, but the kind man gave me a sharp look and I remained silent.

"I have no knowledge of any villages within walking distance of Rivendell. How did you elude the other watchmen?" Elrond asked, almost accusingly.

"Let me reiterate," I replied, feeling rather irritated and frightened at the same time, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I don't know how I got here. I don't even know where 'here' is!"

"You are in Rivendell," the kind man supplied, sending an apologetic look to Elrond.

"I _know_ that. But I've never heard of this place. Ever," I retorted sharply. The other man turned up his lip slightly.

"Impossible. Rivendell is well-known in Middle-earth, _especially_ amongst the Elves!" he exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow slightly, the bizarreness of the situation not lessened by the fact that this was coming from a man with pointed ears. Elrond held up a hand.

"Peace, Amdir." The man (who I assumed was Amdir) shut his mouth and nodded respectfully, though he sent a rather peeved look in my general direction.

"_Elves_?" I said, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm certainly _not_ an Elf." There was a silence and the three of them stared skeptically at me. I nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, slightly uneasy at the strange attention I was receiving. I suddenly stopped and ran a finger over my ear. Instead of having a familiar curve, it came up to a point before curving back down. My hand flew to my other ear, which had adapted the same shape as the other. Unconvinced, I pinched them both in the hope that they were artificial. The pain told me otherwise.

Then it all came back in a rush: the letter, the books. I suddenly remembered where I had heard Elrond's name before; he was a character in _Lord of the Rings_. I had fallen into a book. A book. You hear about alternate universes…but a book? I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I was in a book. And supposedly an Elf.

"An Elf. I'm an Elf. That's just ducky," I muttered, feeling incredibly overwhelmed, confused, and lightheaded. The concept was too big to grasp, constantly eluding me as I sought an explanation. Reality and fantasy had just reversed their roles and I was feeling increasingly dizzy as I tried to absorb it all. I swayed slightly on my feet and informed the three of them that I was going to pass out, before falling to the floor, welcoming the blessed darkness that is unconsciousness.

* * *

I lost all sense of time after I fell to the floor, the hours or minutes that passed in between a constant dark blur. I woke later, the sunlight piercing through the windows and nearly blinding me. At first I thought I was at home again, as I was lying in a bed that felt oddly like my own. I opened my eyes and was promptly greeted by an unfamiliar room. I sighed and leaned back into the pillows, staring quietly at my surroundings. Elrond had certainly spared no expense in this part of Rivendell, right down to the silky sheets and downy comforter wrapped comfortably around my body.

"I see you have awoken." A rich tenor voice suddenly broke the silence and Elrond stepped into the room. I sighed.

"To tell the truth, I was hoping it was just a dream of some sort," I replied, smoothing the white comforter over my stomach.

"I see," he said, sitting down in a chair across from the bed. "I took the liberty of examining the things you carried with you." He gestured to the books and letter which had been neatly placed on the bedside table next to me. "I hope you do not mind." I shrugged.

"Did you read the letter?" I asked, hoping he could shed some light on the subject. He nodded slowly. I looked at him expectantly. "Well…what do you make of it?" He sighed.

"It is cloudy…the answer evades me. I had hoped you would be able to provide an explanation," he remarked, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

"I really don't have much to offer in terms of an explanation," I responded, shrugging my shoulders slightly. "One minute I was there and everything was completely normal. The next thing I know, I'm here and I'm an Elf." He frowned slightly and nodded, seeming to signal for me to continue. "All of this," I gestured wildly around the room, "is just fantasy there. There aren't any Elves…just people." I ended with a shrug, having run out of things to say.

"The Elven race may have existed in your world long ago," Elrond began, speaking slowly and deliberately, "but perhaps they have been forgotten. There are mysterious forces at work, ones that even the Wise cannot comprehend." He looked at me somberly. "I have no other explanation."

"Oh." I looked quietly at my hands, feeling slightly more confused than I had been initially.

"In the meantime, it would be advisable to rise and dress. Dinner is in two hours' time," he announced as he rose from his chair. I gave him a small half-smile as he exited the room and leaned back into the pillows, wondering if I would ever be able to live in such a place.


	4. Chapter 4: Adjustment

Disclaimer: Yes, I still own nothing. Whoop dee freakin' doo.

**Chapter Four: Adjustment**

****

The sun was low on the horizon when I finally got out of bed, having spent the last few hours of daylight contemplating my current situation. Edna would certainly be worried sick about me. I assumed they would search the surrounding area; what would they do when they found no body? Or maybe I had died and gone to some sort of heaven (though why it would be centered on a book was beyond me). I tested this theory by pinching myself on the forearm. The pain convinced me that I was definitely in some sort of physical form. Whatever had happened, there was no way for me to go back. And if I could, would I want to?

The impatient growling of my stomach forced me out of bed. The stone floor was cold beneath my feet and the light nightgown I wore flapped gently against my legs as a cool breeze swept through the room (I had no idea how I had gotten into the nightgown, and frankly, I think I'm better off not knowing). My clothes were nowhere to be found (and I doubt Elrond would have been pleased if I showed up to dinner in Converse sneakers and jeans), so I meandered over to the bureau in the far corner of the room and opened the doors. A large array of dresses and gowns hung neatly in their places, all immaculate and incredibly medieval. I pawed through the folds of fabric, searching for something relatively plain and simple, comfort being my highest priority. This proved to be a difficult process. Whoever put together this wardrobe was definitely into flowing gauzy dresses. Most of the gowns appropriate for dinner were of the former description. Wearing one would definitely cause trouble, if not stains. I finally settled on a wine-colored dress with gold embroidery at the waist, neck, sleeves, and hem. It was similar to velvet, but much more comfortable and significantly lighter in weight. I dressed quickly, and struggled for nearly ten minutes with my hair (which was still quite a mess from my earlier fall) before deciding it wasn't worth the effort and pulled it back into a rather messy braid.

I rose from the vanity and stood in front of the full-length mirror. The dress fit well enough (I can't say the same for the shoes, which were about two sizes too small), and I suppose I looked half-decent, considering the circumstances. I squinted at my reflection. Long dark hair, brown eyes, a mouth I'd always felt was too small, fairly ordinary nose smattered with a few freckles, and pointed ears. That's me. I shrugged, figuring it was the best I could do, turned away from the mirror, and waltzed out of the room. I shut the door behind me and realized something very important:

I had absolutely no idea where I was going.

I contented myself with wandering aimlessly for a few minutes, hoping that I might somehow stumble into the correct room. Instead, I nearly ran into a passing servant, who happened to be looking for me.

"There you are. Lord Elrond was wondering where you'd gotten to," she greeted as I struggled with the hem of my dress (floor-length gowns, I quickly discovered, are _not_ for me). She was a young, severe looking woman of substantial height. She observed me with a steely gaze, a somewhat quizzical expression on her face. "Who dressed you?"

"I did," I replied. Her eyebrows rose in slight surprise.

"Oh." She did not easily mask the shock in her tone. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen again, my lady." My lips quirked up at her last two words. Chivalry lives on in Rivendell.

"No problem," I chirped happily, pretending to be unaware of any issue regarding my attire.

"We must hurry now," she stated, walking briskly down the hallway. "You're terribly late and Lord Elrond is expecting you." I trotted after her as she nearly flew through a maze of corridors, cursing my choice in footwear with every step.

She eventually stopped in a doorway leading to a larger room, to the relief of my pinched feet. Without so much as a warning, she gave me a gentle shove forward, propelling me into the room. The polite chatter came to a halt as I stumbled into the room. Well aware of the eyes upon me, I cast my gaze downward and walked as quickly as I could to the one empty chair near the head of the table, trying not to limp exceedingly. I finally took my seat, and gave an apologetic glance in Elrond's direction.

"We welcome Haley Logan to our table tonight," Elrond said as I fumbled with my napkin, my face turning the same shade as my dress. "She is…a guest." He turned his gaze in my direction. "We hope your stay here is pleasant." I nodded in response, trying to avoid eye contact with the other guests. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence before the conversation started back up again.

"Erm…sorry about that," I apologized. Elrond gave a small half smile.

"No need for apologies," he replied.

"Oh…well…thanks…I guess," I said, feeling rather confused and embarrassed all at once.

Dinner, awkwardness aside, was lovely. The food was very well near perfect, like everything else in Rivendell. I did not know the names of nearly half the stuff I ate, but it all tasted fantastic and I cared less and less about whether or not it was something I would have eaten had I been anywhere else (I later learned that the meat was rabbit, which was something I avoided religiously on the grounds that it was originally cute and fuzzy with big floppy ears. I learned to ask about the meat after that).

Most of the conversation I participated in was either with Elrond or the woman—or Elf, I suppose—who sat across from me. She introduced herself as Arwen and I later learned that she was Elrond's daughter. She, in short, was a person you would love to hate, but can't. She boasted a fair, flawless ivory complexion, piercing blue eyes, and long brown hair so dark it appeared to be the color of ebony at a first glance. She possessed an inner grace nearly impossible to describe to those who have not seen her. It was unique—it made her stand out from the others as something special, while also making her appear even more beautiful. I felt quite plain and childish sitting across from her, and wanted desperately to find some fault in her, to justify my envy of her looks. But she was gracious and kind, as well as beautiful and I found myself admiring her as the evening progressed.

I excused myself early from dinner, hoping to get a good night's sleep in me so I would be fully prepared to tackle the coming day. I wasn't feeling tired, but I figured it would be better to rest up rather than wait up the whole night.

"I would like to speak with you in the morning," Elrond requested after I expressed my desire to retire early. I nodded, having more than a few questions that needed to be answered. "I will send for you an hour after breakfast."

"Sounds good," I said in parting, rising from my chair. Elrond instructed a nearby servant to escort me to my quarters and I prepared myself for another agonizing walk.

Once back in my room, I kicked off my slippers and shed my dress, draping it over the back of a chair. I crawled into the nightgown I had worn before and climbed into bed, looking forward to getting some sleep.

Many hours later, I was wide awake. It must have been well past midnight, but I felt no more tired than I had been before. I shifted in my bed, burying my face in the pillow, and sighing loudly, muttering an occasional curse.

I never fell asleep that night. The very closest I came to actual slumber was lying with my eyes shut on the border between sleep and awake. It was more of an intense daydream than anything. By the time the sun rose I was more than a little irritated and very much confused. Whatever the explanation might be, Elrond was going to get an earful about this one.

* * *

"Why can't I sleep?" I demanded, bursting into Elrond's study the next morning. He was sitting quite calmly at a desk, poring over an immense volume. He did not look up from his work.

"Haley, have a seat," he greeted, writing something down on a piece of paper. I plopped down in the nearest chair and glared fiercely at the tall Elf.

"You cannot sleep because you no longer need to," Elrond replied after a moment, shutting the book and moving the various papers and miscellanea aside. "Elves do not need to rest as Men do."

"Well, that information would have been really helpful last night," I snapped, too irritated to care about general courtesy (and the fact that I was addressing someone of superior class and station). He did not seem to mind much; on the contrary, he seemed to find my irritation amusing.

"It is best that you found out for yourself," he explained. I grumbled for a moment, put off by his calmness as well as the logic of his decision.

"So is there anything else that you'd like to tell me?" I asked after a moment, the sharpness still present in my tone. "Or do I have to 'find out for myself?'"

"There is much I can tell you. The question is where you want to begin," he responded, seeming to enjoy speaking in riddle.

"I would really like to know more about this whole Elf thing," I requested irritably.

"There is much to tell about the Elves," Elrond stated, folding his hands upon his desk. "They are unlike Men in many respects. They do not need to rest, as you have discovered, and their endurance is far greater. Elves do not die or age as humans do; they are blessed with grace that permits them to live many, many years—"

"How many years?" I interrupted.

"Centuries if—"

"Whoa, wait a minute…" Elrond stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me oddly. "Elves are _immortal_?"

"In some respects, yes. Death…" He looked slightly uncomfortable, as though something was paining him, "…can result from great wounds—both internally and externally."

"Oh." I was silent for a moment, trying to absorb what he had just said. I went from feeling as though I didn't have enough time to live to feeling like I had overly much.

There was a brief moment of silence and Elrond went on to explain more about the Elves. He used many names and places I had never heard before and it was incredibly easy to get lost in what he was saying. I won't repeat everything he said—I understood very little of it and consequently, most of it has since departed from my memory. What I did learn was that Elves are pretty much superior in everything to Men—better eyesight, better hearing, better endurance. I was most surprised when Elrond informed me that basically, I could talk to plants and animals because Elves have a special relationship with pretty much everything (or at least that's what I got from it).

"Wait…so I could go up to…a tree, for instance, and be like 'what's up?' and the tree could understand me and be like 'not much. How are you?'" I asked, nearly on the edge of my seat. This only happened in Disney cartoons—besides, I had a bone to pick with some of those mosquitoes.

Unfortunately, Elrond explained it was much more complicated than that.

The meeting ended on a rather low note when Elrond explained to me that Elves also have their own language—and he wanted me to learn one of the forms called Sindarin. I was very vocal in my protestations.

"I'm really, really, really bad with languages," I explained. Elrond was unmoved and explained why it was imperative that I learn it ("Because I said so," was the general message I got). Plagued with flashbacks of my horrible French teacher, I left his study in a rather poor mood. However, a spring soon came back into my step as I realized that there were no tape players and I would never be forced to complete the conversation with Jacques or help Claudette shop for clothes again.

* * *

My first week or so in Rivendell, I didn't do much of anything. I spent most of my time either cooped up in my room or in one of the gardens, thinking. The first part of the week I spent agonizing over the life I'd left behind, Edna being my primary concern. She had just lost her best friend—my disappearance certainly wouldn't help her in any way. The police would find no evidence to help explain what had happened, which could create a sense of false hope as well as despair. I didn't want Edna to spend the rest of her life hoping that I might somehow return. I worried about the friends I'd left behind—how would they react to this? Would I unintentionally be a negative effect on the rest of their lives? I cried almost constantly during this time—I eventually brought my concerns to Arwen, who managed to somewhat reassure me. I guess she mentioned something to Elrond, because he took me aside one day and said some very philosophical things that made complete sense when I heard them, but afterward I could not recall a single word he said.

On top of all that, I was still grieving for Aunt Kate. The knowledge that she would have wanted me to move on and learn to love the world she had so often praised, did not provide me with much comfort. There was a void in my life that was nearly impossible to ignore or try to live with it.

I slowly began to come out of the cocoon I had built around myself and began to start a new life in Rivendell. I spent a lot of time with Elrond and plagued him with endless amounts of questions. When he grew tired of me, he would send me off on an errand, usually something along the lines of "Go bother Arwen." Consequently, I spent a lot of time with the aforementioned Elf, as Elrond's patience began to fray. She didn't seem to mind me much—it might have had something to do with the fact that I found it much more entertaining to bother Elrond rather than her.

Amdir was a different story.

Of the two Elves who accosted me in the woods, he was the gruff one. I found him to be an arrogant and egotistical ass, whereas he saw me as a smart-aleck with an attitude problem. Naturally, we often informed each other of our views, which often led to Amdir saying something incomprehensible in some form of Elvish, to which I replied "Bite me."

"Ignore Amdir," Arwen would often advise as the aforementioned Elf would exit the scene, looking either put out or smug, depending on the outcome of the argument. "His head is too big for his shoulders."

"Trust me, he _deserved_ that," was often my response. Arwen would simply sigh and shake her head, sometimes offering me a few words of wisdom before I tuned her out.

Amdir aside, life was peaceful in Rivendell, and I gradually fell into a serene routine that changed very little as the days passed, unaware of the changes time would bring.


	5. Chapter 5: The Grey Pilgrim

Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR I wouldn't be sitting here wasting time typing stories.

**Chapter Five: The Grey Pilgrim**

****

It began as any other ordinary day—I had spent most the morning in the garden reading a book Elrond had recommended I read for background information on Middle-earth. It was an interesting read, though I began to grow increasingly bored after the first ten chapters. There are only so many battles one can read about in one day. After a while I shut the book and waltzed into the Great Hall, planning on returning to my room to retrieve a different book. I stopped abruptly on the threshold. The Hall was significantly more crowded than usual—Elves I had never seen before were gathered in the center of the room, speaking in hushed tones. I caught a brief glimpse of a very bedraggled and exhausted old man before the sea of faces closed around him again. Arwen was standing near the edge of the crowd, her face drawn in worry.

"What's going on?" I asked as I approached her. She looked up at me, seemingly lost in thought.

"I must go," she muttered in response and turned off in the opposite direction. I trailed after her, slightly annoyed at her strange attitude.

"Arwen…" She ignored me and addressed a passing servant.

"See to it that Asfaloth is saddled up immediately. Hurry." Her tone was urgent, lacking its normal warmth and benevolence.

"Yes, m'lady," the servant replied, quickly scurrying off to see to her request.

"Arwen," I repeated, catching hold of her sleeve. She stopped and faced me, composed, yet visibly shaken.

"I cannot tell you all," she explained, her voice low and her words hurried. "The hour is late and the minions of the Enemy draw near. The Ring must be brought here before it is too late." While the fear in her voice was tangible and the urgency evident, I could not help but be confused.

"I don't see how jewelry has anything to do with this," I said after a moment. She patted my shoulder gently.

"All will be revealed in good time," she promised. "I must go now." I let her go this time and she swept around the corner, her voluminous skirt billowing out behind her. I sighed and turned back to the Hall.

Most of the people, the old man included, had since vacated the premises, only a handful remaining, huddled in small clusters and muttering to one another. I caught sight of Amdir who was standing with several other Elves, his expression tense. I took a deep breath and approached him.

"What's going on?" I asked curtly, ignoring the odd looks I was receiving as result of my rather rude outburst. Amdir looked at me with ill-disguised repugnance.

"Nothing that concerns you," he replied smugly. Some of the Elves gathered around him smirked in silent amusement.

"Fine," I spat, giving a sarcastic smirk. "I'll go ask someone who actually knows what's going on and doesn't have the collective intelligence of gravel." I turned and waltzed away, feeling slightly annoyed with Amdir's response, but satisfied with my own. A hand suddenly caught my elbow and spun me around.

"Gandalf the Grey has come to Rivendell, bringing ill tidings, I assume," Amdir explained, his face dark with suppressed anger. "The Nine walk abroad; Lord Elrond fears for the Ring-bearer."

"Thank you," I replied, despite the fact that he had spoken completely in riddle.

"It would serve you well to be respectful to your betters," he returned, glowering contemptuously.

"If I see any, I'll be sure to remember that," I retorted before waltzing from the room. "That felt good," I said to no one in particular.

* * *

Elrond stayed locked up in his study with the man called Gandalf until dinner. Unable to press him or anyone else for answers and not being in the mood to harass Amdir to the point of homicide, I raided all available bookshelves for books that might explain some of what was happening. After plowing through numerous pages and scouring the indexes for information, I had a vague idea of what Amdir had been speaking of as well as an intense wish that I had read the books when Aunt Kate had suggested it.

Unfortunately, Elrond was not willing to talk at dinner that night. He looked deeply troubled and spoke only to Gandalf, who had taken Arwen's seat across from me. He would deliver a silencing look whenever I opened my mouth to ask a question. Instead, I turned my attention to my dinner, while intermittently studying Gandalf. He looked like a conventional wizard you would find in a children's book, with a long and wild grey beard and frayed grey robes. A hat and staff were propped up against his chair, adding to the illusion. He had a rather large beaked nose and bushy eyebrows that were slightly reminiscent of caterpillars. But his eyes were definitely his most striking feature. They were the color of the sea, dark and brooding, seeming to change slightly in the light. They sparkled with a warm kindness that made him appear both young and old, reflecting great wisdom and experience, as well as an innocent freshness. But at the same time, a deeper, darker power was present in his gaze, incredibly striking, but nearly undetectable at a first glance.

It was nearly impossible to not look at him—he was fascinating, always a new side to explore or ponder. Inevitably, I got lost in my own thoughts and did not realize when he began to stare back.

"Your spectator is called Haley Logan," Elrond finally interjected, breaking me out of my thoughts. I flushed crimson and looked down at my plate.

"Sorry…I just spaced out for a moment," I apologized. Gandalf's eyes twinkled and he chuckled knowingly. Elrond managed a small smile.

Elrond and Gandalf eventually returned to brooding and speaking occasionally, leaving me once again to my plate. I entertained myself with attempting to remember the actual plot of the books so I could try and figure out what on earth was happening. Unfortunately, I remembered very little from what I had managed to read, aside from songs and poems every twenty pages.

Confusion, I soon learned, was going to be a rather common feeling for me in Rivendell.

* * *

I dressed early the next morning and nearly sprinted down to breakfast, expecting Arwen to be seated serenely at the table with some answers for me.

Of course, she wasn't there and I spent another meal racking my memory for possible clues.

Elrond and Gandalf shut themselves up once again in Elrond's study, leaving me to my own devices. Ruling out asking Amdir as a possible option (he still looked sufficiently annoyed by yesterday's encounter,) I retreated to my room and made a list of questions. By lunchtime I had nearly two-hundred and I presented the completed list to Elrond who accepted it with a raised eyebrow. Unfortunately, he never answered any of them. Call it a hunch, but I think he used it as kindling.

* * *

I spent the morning of the following day poring over yet another book in the garden. After my patience had been worn to a thread, I happily shut the volume and commenced wandering around aimlessly, enjoying the nice weather. I was preparing to return indoors when the repetitive thump of hooves on ground stopped me. Arwen suddenly rode in on a beautiful white horse, a small person hugged tightly to her chest. Her face was drawn in panic and I thought I could see tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked as she drew the horse to a halt.

"Get Father, quickly!" she exclaimed, her tone urgent and worried. I nodded ran into the Great Hall, and in the general direction of Elrond's study. I skidded to a halt in front of the door and rapped my knuckles sharply on the wood, turning the latch before anyone gave consent to enter. Elrond and Gandalf were seated in twin armchairs, a long pipe sticking out of the corner of Gandalf's mouth. They both stared at me in surprise at my unannounced entrance.

"Arwen needs you," I said simply, slightly out of breath. Elrond stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Gandalf's eyes widened and he dropped his pipe on a nearby table.

"Frodo," he uttered, his voice barely audible.

All I can say is for men in robes, they can sure move quickly when they want to.

I made my own way back to the Great Hall at a much slower gait, nearly knocking into Elrond and Gandalf when they bowled past me, the smallish person clutched carefully in Gandalf's arms. I jumped out of the way and returned to the Hall in search of Arwen. She was leaning heavily against a wall, seeming distracted and relieved all at once.

"What just happened?" I asked, hoping for a straight answer.

"I…I have things I must attend to," she replied, waving my question away with a graceful sweep of her hand. "I cannot speak now." With that, she gathered up her skirts and departed, leaving me to wonder why everyone had to be so evasive.


	6. Chapter 6: Plotting

Disclaimer: I'm surprised you haven't had enough sarcasm already.

A/N: I know…I gave Glorfindel's part to Arwen. I did this for two reasons. One, I thought Liv Tyler did a nice job as Arwen and two, Arwen already had a relatively significant role in this fic, so I felt that it would probably be most appropriate for her to find Frodo and company. However, Glorfindel still rocks and all that jazz.

****

**Chapter Six: Plotting**

****

Though I was relatively used to being kept in the dark about the recent happenings at Rivendell, I could not help but feel irritated at the lack of information that was available to me. I finally cornered Arwen the next day after lunch and demanded some answers.

"Can you please tell me what's going on, or are you waiting until I'm driven to the ragged edge of insanity before you tell me anything?" I asked as we exited the dining room. She smiled slightly at my exaggerated claims and shook her head gently.

"I cannot tell you all," she explained. "Father wishes it to remain secret until the Council." I screwed up my face into a somewhat mixed expression of annoyance and exaggerated pain. She smiled softly and continued in a lower voice. "Frodo has brought the Ring of Power to Rivendell. He was stabbed by a Morgul blade and was greatly injured—Father has been tending to him and he expects he will recover. His companions are due to arrive tomorrow." We walked in silence for a few moments while I attempted to process what she had just told me.

"So…what's the Council?" I asked after a moment.

"Many leaders—Men, Dwarves, and Elves alike—are coming to Rivendell to…discuss the matter of the Ring," she explained, faltering slightly.

"Oh. Could…anyone go?" I queried, attempting to sound casual and not give the impression that my curiosity was getting the better of me. Arwen gave a small laugh and a slightly reproving look.

"Those who are invited may," she replied. I nodded and pretended to examine one of the paintings hanging on the wall, quietly plotting. Three days of not knowing anything was taking its toll and I silently made the decision to attend the Council whether or not I was invited.

* * *

The companions Arwen mentioned earlier arrived around lunchtime, bringing a large commotion in their wake. There were four of them—one man and three hobbits. The hobbits were the first ones I'd ever seen up close and as a result, I was compelled to stare at them extensively. I had read several books in which they were mentioned, but the descriptions did not do them justice. They were essentially, curly haired, fuzzy-footed men who stood at somewhere around four feet high. The one they called Sam was perhaps the stoutest of the lot, with a head full of dirty-blond hair, a round face, and puppy-dog eyes. I gathered he was closest to the injured hobbit because he would simply not sit still until he was brought to "Mister Frodo." Once Sam had been taken to see the aforementioned hobbit, the other two quickly set about getting some food in their stomachs. Dear God, could they eat! The scene was slightly reminiscent of my own lunchroom, with the guys shoveling as much food as possible into their mouths in the shortest amount of time. It both amusing and disgusting to observe.

The other member of the party was a man. He looked rather accustomed to being outdoors, as he was rather rugged, wearing clothes that could have done with a good washing and mending. His hair was longish and rather shaggy, and he had the beginnings of a beard. He possessed a pair of sharp green eyes that darted quickly around the room, seemingly in search of someone or something.

Eventually, the novelty of the new guests wore off and I found myself staring at my plate and trying to piece together what Arwen had told me the previous day.

* * *

The next morning I wandered in for breakfast to find the place in a general uproar. Frodo had evidently awoken and was feeling much better, as he was surrounded by his three friends as well as a crowd of well-wishers. I elbowed my way to my seat, intent on enjoying my breakfast. Arwen was as absolute bore, often spacing off with a rather dreamy smile pasted upon her lips. I found my plate far more entertaining.

* * *

The following day was definitely the loudest, as well as the most crowded. Most of the Council invitees had managed to show up in time for breakfast, so by the time I got down to the dining room, my usual seat had been taken over by several men. Deciding that it would be better not to bother them, I sat down near the end of the table, right next to a party of Dwarves.

I made a very important discovery that morning: I really do not like Dwarves.

They were about the same height as the hobbits, but nowhere near as endearing and significantly hairier and the customs of their culture apparently stipulated that a bath be taken every third decade or so. I mulled over my breakfast, feeling slightly betrayed. Disney had disillusioned me. Snow White would have passed out if she met _these_ Dwarves—either from their smell or their attitude. Their humor was rather poor as well and I had a bit of a run-in with one they called Glóin, who could seriously not take a joke.

While they were loud, boisterous, and constantly looked at me as though my mere existence was offensive, they were by no means discreet in their conversation. By listening carefully and feigning lack of interest, I quickly learned the time and place of the Council. When it became significantly difficult to refrain from stuffing a napkin down some certain Dwarven throats, I excused myself and returned to my room to plot.

By lunchtime, I had managed to formulate a somewhat half-baked plan that had a chance of working if fate permitted. I returned to the dining room to find it fairly swarming with people, some of whom had evidently just arrived. I managed to win myself a seat farther away from the Dwarves. I spent the majority of my meal apologizing the man on my right, who I constantly bumped elbows with (he was left-handed). For the second time that day I excused myself early and retreated to the sanctuary of my room. I exchanged the gauzy mauve dress the maid had forced me into that morning for a simpler blue muslin frock that had no ridiculous train to worry about. I settled myself into a chair, picked up my current book of choice, and waited for the time to pass.


	7. Chapter 7: Oops

Disclaimer: I don't (fill in the blank!) anything!

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**Chapter Seven: Oops**

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Time passed strangely in Rivendell. There was seemingly no need for timekeeping devices of any sort—clocks, watches, and hourglasses were absent from every room, often making me late for meals and other such appointments. It was because of this reason that I constantly scurried from my room to the hall near the dining room to see whether or not the Council had begun (the Dwarves said it was due to begin almost directly after lunch). Whether or not they were early or late in the commencement of the meeting I know not, but it seemed to me that it took a rather long time for the voices in the dining room to diminish. On my third or fourth trip, silence greeted my ears and I quietly stepped into the room to find it virtually empty, save for a few servants removing the remaining crockery. Smiling in slight relief, I slipped back into the hall.

Unfortunately, the Dwarves had not been entirely specific as to the location of the Council and I found myself wandering rather aimlessly through the halls. I rounded a corner, thinking I had heard voices down the hall when I promptly smacked into something and fell to the floor. I struggled to right myself, expecting to find myself face to face with a misplaced table or chair. I was rather surprised to find two hobbits, one of which was sprawled on the ground.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, scrambling to help the little man up. "I'm so sorry…I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking." The one I had sent to the ground stood up and brushed off the front of his coat. His curled locks were a shade darker than the other's, a reddish highlight occasionally catching the light.

"Oh, its no' a problem," he replied, straightening the collar of his coat as he spoke. "We've been banged up a good piece before an' it wasn't anythin' to worry aboot, was it Merry? In fact—"

"Pippin!" his companion hissed, interrupting what would evidently turn into a story. "We're going to be late!" My ears perked up at his last few words

"You're going to the Council?" I asked eagerly.

"No," replied the one who had just spoken.

"Yes," Pippin answered simultaneously. They looked at each other.

"It was his idea!" they both claimed, pointing to the other.

"It was _not_," Pippin explained before the other could get a word in. "We were simply overlooked. Small technicality, really. Merry insisted that our presence was necessary."

"I never said—" the one called Merry interrupted, glaring at his friend.

"Wait—just slow down a minute," I said. Both looked at me expectantly, identical expressions of guilt pasted upon their faces. "I wasn't invited either—would you mind if I came along?"

"Oh not at all, milady!" Pippin exclaimed, visibly relieved. Merry nodded in agreement. "We found just the perfect place too—no one will suspect a thin'."

"Great. Thank you," I replied, smiling at the duo.

"Now, we're no' tha' far away," Merry explained, lowering his voice slightly. "We'll go down this hallway for a piece an' then make two rights an' a left." I nodded. "Come on, then." I fell into step behind them, my bare feet padding noiselessly on the smooth stone floors.

We were completely silent as we stole down a series of hallways, save for Pippin occasionally whispering "Are you sure you know where you're going?" and Merry replying "Yes, Pippin!" in a slightly irritated hiss. Finally, we stepped out into an open area covered by a stone overhang supported by several sculpted pillars. Merry and Pippin took their places behind the pillars and motioned for me to do so as well. Once I had situated myself, I had a clear view of the Council in front of us. They were seated in chairs placed in a semi-circle on a level stone floor. A large tree grew nearby, occasionally dropping leaves on the assembly below. Elrond sat a large chair overlooking the congregation, a stone table placed in front of him, flanked by two of his advisors. Gandalf was seated on the far side of the circle next to a rather worried looking hobbit I recognized as Frodo, as well as several fair-haired Elves. The Dwarves were seated next to the party of Elves, and not looking particularly thrilled with the seating arrangements. The rest of the seats were taken up by Men, most of whom I did not recognize, save for the shaggy guy I had seen at lunch the other day, whose back was facing me.

_I really ought to learn people's names_, I thought to myself as I observed the scene. The chatter died down as Elrond rose to his feet.

"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old," he greeted his voice loud and clear as a church bell, "you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." I mentally reviewed the maps I had been poring over. My geography of Middle-earth was rather limited, but I recalled that the land he spoke of was much farther south. It was not deeply discussed in the books—the most I could get out of them was that it was a land of great evil and best if not spoken of. "Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction," he continued. I started slightly. This was news to me. "None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall." He paused for a moment. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He emphasized this last sentence, heavily inflecting on the words 'fate' and 'doom.' Apparently drama is not new to him. He turned slightly to the left. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." He gestured slightly to the table with his right hand.

The hobbit rose slowly, and with a great sense of purpose and bravery that seemed almost too great for his small stature, he strode forward and mutely placed a golden band in the center of the table before returning to his seat, looking slightly relieved. The tension in the air was palpable. I turned my eyes to the bit of gold reflecting off the stone and was immediately fascinated. It was, in all respects, rather unremarkable, appearing to be nothing more than a simple wedding band. But as I stared, a great power seemed to emanate from the gold, dangerous, yet deliciously intriguing. The gold suddenly appeared beautiful in its simplicity, shining brightly in the afternoon sunlight and it suddenly occurred to me that there was nothing in the world more beautiful than this Ring and if I could simply touch it, I would have some of that beauty for myself.

I heard people whispering amongst themselves about the Ring—calling it the doom of man and other hateful names. I felt anger stir within my heart—how could they call something so beautiful such horrible names? A man suddenly rose and I was able to tear my gaze from the Ring. I realized with an intense horror what I had been thinking those past few seconds and I recoiled from the Ring, suddenly frightened by and detesting its presence. I tried to focus on the man to calm my thoughts. He seemed to be young, though there were some faint creases in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His hair was slightly longish and a very light brown highlighted with gold, his short beard and mustache slightly darker. He was clad in chain mail and leather, his tunic a deep scarlet. Intense dark brown eyes looked quietly at the crowd.

"In a dream," he began, stepping away from his seat, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the West a pale light lingered." He was slowly approaching the Ring in the center of the circle. I shuddered and tried to keep my eyes on him. "A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.'" He was significantly closer now, his hand reaching toward the Ring. "Isildur's Bane," he repeated, his hand fluttering over the gold. I inhaled sharply.

"Boromir!" exclaimed Elrond, nearly jumping to his feet as the man's hand barely touched the gold.

Gandalf stood up simultaneously and began speaking in an unfamiliar language, his voice deeper than normal. The sky suddenly grew dark and the air colder, whipping my hair around and chilling my legs and arms. I drew myself up close against the pillar. Gandalf's voice seemed magnified and deeper than usual, another voice rising above his own, intoning the same words. The ground seemed to tremble as he stood, the sky reflecting an eerie orange light. I shook with terror. The words seemed to turn my very being inside out; burning my ears and making my head throb in pain. I pressed my palms up to my ears, but the sound was not suppressed or muted, seeming to grow even louder in my attempts to silence it. I knew not what he spoke, but the intense hatred and evil was evident in every syllable.

Just when I thought I would not be able to bear it anymore, Gandalf stopped. The sunlight slowly returned, shining down brightly through the leaves and the peaceful quiet that is typical of Rivendell slowly returned. My breath came easier and I relaxed slightly against the pillar. The man Elrond had called Boromir had since returned to his seat, looking much more frightened than he had been a moment ago. Gandalf still stood, seeming slightly winded.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," said Elrond curtly, looking accusingly at Gandalf.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Gandalf replied, his voice still slightly deeper and thick, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" He looked piercingly at those sitting around him, leaning heavily on his staff as though the effort exhausted him. "The Ring is altogether evil," he said sharply, looking in Boromir's direction.

"It is a gift," Boromir said, seemingly unconvinced by Gandalf's performance. The wizard looked back at him, an expression of irritated disbelief upon his weathered features. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" He had risen and commenced pacing around the circle. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of _our people_ are _your_ lands kept safe!" He pointed at the Council with an expression of righteous anger upon his face. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy," he continued. "Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it," replied the man I had dubbed "Shaggy" for lack of his proper name. "None of us can." Boromir turned slowly back to regard Shaggy with a blank stare. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master!"

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" demanded Boromir, a haughty sneer upon his face.

"This is no mere Ranger," retorted a male Elf, standing up. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." Boromir's eyebrows rose and he turned up his lip slightly.

"Aragorn," he said, appearing shocked. "_This_ is Isildur's heir?" Aragorn (as he was evidently called) took a deep breath and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his countenance calm and collected.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the Elf added. Aragorn's forehead crinkled slightly and he waved his hand at the Elf and spoke in what I assumed was Sindarin. The Elf nodded and reluctantly returned to his seat. Boromir turned and looked at the Elf, a bitter contempt ringing in his voice. "Gondor has no king." He then moved his gaze to Aragorn as he went to take his seat. "Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf said, breaking the silence. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," Elrond explained, rising slowly to his feet. "The Ring must be destroyed." If there was an award for being incredibly dramatic in times of evil, it would definitely go to him.

The strangest thing followed Elrond's declaration. A low hiss pierced the air, seeming to come directly from the Ring itself. I shivered and tried not to look at that small speck of gold on the table.

"What are we waiting for?" a rough voice growled. One of my Dwarven breakfast companions suddenly leapt to his feet, swiping an ax from his neighbor. He raised the weapon high over his head and brought it down on the Ring with a shout. The blade shattered upon impact, sending the Dwarf flying backwards onto the ground as metallic shards flew through the air. I felt a passing chill very similar to the one that Gandalf had produced only moments ago with his eerie speech, and a low voice, laced with malice, muttered in the same dark tongue. I looked up at the Ring, somewhat expecting it to be a twisted piece of metal, or at least bear a telltale scratch. But the gold winked back, bright as ever, the Ring a complete and perfect circle.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond intoned slowly, looking quietly at the assembly. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom," he continued, his voice becoming even slower and more deliberate. "Only there can it be unmade." The silence was almost deafening as the Elf continued. "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He paused, looking around before continuing. "One of you must do this."

The following silence was deeper than any I had ever heard. The very world seemed to stop with Elrond's declaration. And despite the fact that it was a totally serious situation, what with the fate of the entire world resting on everyone's shoulders, I found it incredibly difficult not to laugh.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," replied Boromir, the first to break the silence. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye," he made a circle with his fingers, shaking his wrist for emphasis, "is ever-watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten-thousand men could you do this. It is folly." He was shaking his head and looking at the Council with an almost fearful expression upon his strong features. The blonde Elf who had spoken earlier leapt to his feet, his robes billowing out behind him.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he demanded angrily. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it!" exclaimed the Dwarf Elrond had addressed as Gimli. The Elf pressed his lips together in anger.

"And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" demanded Boromir, visibly furious. Gimli leapt to his feet.

"I will be DEAD before I see the Ring in the hands of an ELF!" he shouted, his eyes narrowed and spit flying out of the corner of his mouth. His outburst caused the rest of the Elves (including some of Elrond's advisors) to rise to their feet, their calm demeanors completely vanished. I was slightly annoyed, but decided that my involvement was useless, seeing as I was technically not supposed to be there. The Dwarves also stood to back Gimli and most of the Men also rose, most likely because everyone was fighting. "NEVER trust an Elf!" Gimli shouted over the rest of the angry voices.

Nearly everyone was standing at this point, with the exception of Elrond, Aragorn, Frodo, and some of Elrond's less enflamed advisors. Gandalf had allowed himself a minute of silence before throwing himself into the fray, yelling about doom and destruction. Elrond sat in his chair, his fingers resting lightly on his temples, looking as though he was getting a migraine. Frodo sat quietly in his chair, his feet not even touching the ground, staring at the Ring, and looking as though he was trying to make a great decision. He suddenly tore his eyes away from it and quickly stood up.

"I will take it," he stated, walking toward the throng in order to make his voice heard. No one reacted and the shouting continued. "I will take it," he shouted, louder this time. Gandalf heard and he shut his eyes, pain flickering over his wise features as he turned toward the hobbit. One by one the voices ceased, until there was silence, and every pair of eyes was fixed upon Frodo. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he repeated, suddenly seeming much taller and stronger than his small stature let on. More silence followed his words and the Council members looked on quietly at the hobbit, the only one who had the courage to take on this great burden. I silently hoped that they felt ashamed of themselves. I certainly did. "Though…" Frodo finally continued, his voice growing much softer, "I do not know the way."

The wizard took a deep breath before declaring: "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." He came and stood by the hobbit, resting his large hand on Frodo's shoulder.

Aragorn rose next, valor seeming to radiate from his tall form. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he pledged, sinking to his knees before Frodo. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," promised the Elf, going to stand with the three.

"And my ax," returned Gimli, somewhat smugly. He took his place next to the Elf, who looked less than thrilled.

"You carry the fates of us all, little one," Boromir said, taking a step forward. "If this is indeed the will of the Council," he looked respectfully at the assembly, "then Gondor will see it done."

"Hey!" a voice interrupted from the bushes on the other side of the floor. There was a rustling of leaves and a very flustered hobbit that I recognized as Sam ran in, skidding to a halt next to Frodo. A look of restrained surprise passed over Elrond's face.

"Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," he stated, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when _he_ is summoned to a secret Council and _you_ are not," Elrond replied, his eyebrows rising in amusement. Sam looked sheepishly at Frodo and then at the ground. I looked at Merry and Pippin, both of whom were becoming increasingly horrified at the sudden turn of events. They both exchanged somewhat offended looks before bolting from their places beside me.

"Oy!" Merry shouted as he emerged from behind the pillar. "We're coming too!" Elrond's head whipped around and he seemed even more shocked than when Sam had made his appearance. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us," Merry exclaimed as he and Pippin took their places beside Frodo, who was looking both confused and elated simultaneously. Elrond looked at the pair with ill-disguised shock.

"What?" asked Pippin of the Elf lord. "It's not like we weren't the only ones listenin' in back there, what with that Elf and all." My eyes widened at Pippin's words. With any luck Elrond would simply ignore that little slip.

"What Elf?" demanded Elrond. I blanched.

_Uh oh…_


	8. Chapter 8: Surfing the Tide

Disclaimer: I own…nothing. Big surprise there.

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**Chapter Eight: Surfing the Tide**

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Pippin winced as he realized his mistake.

"Did I say Elf?" he asked quickly. "I meant…shelf. Yes, there's a shelf back there that we…uh…"

"We hid in it," Merry offered. Pippin nodded energetically in agreement. Elrond was not convinced by their charade and instead cast his gaze back to where the two had emerged earlier, daring me to come forward. There was a silence as the rest of the Council members turned their gazes toward the pillar, their expressions both curious and annoyed. I took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the pillar, incredibly conscious of the eyes fixed upon me. There were a few murmurs of displeasure as I quietly strode forward, stopping in front of Elrond. Oddly enough, he didn't seem too surprised.

"Lord Elrond," I murmured in a last ditch attempt to appear polite. I didn't know what the penalty for eavesdropping was in Rivendell, but I hoped it wouldn't be too terrible.

"Haley Logan," he replied, looking quietly at my burning face. "Always the inquisitive one." I nodded.

"Sorry," I apologized. I added 'milord' as an afterthought.

"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Gimli, a note of triumph in his voice. "NEVER trust an Elf!"

"Really? I happen to have a theory that you should avoid Dwarves altogether," I snapped back before I could censor myself. I pressed my lips together after the words left my mouth. The Dwarves glowered at me, while the Elves showed faint signs of amusement. Gimli looked as though he was about to give me a piece of his mind when Elrond stepped in.

"Well, Miss Logan," Elrond began, his expression unreadable. "What did you think of our Council?"

"Er…well…" I stuttered, searching for words. "It was a very nice Council—very well-organized. Interesting, too." I paused, trying to figure out how to undo some of the humiliation that had resulted because of Elrond's discovery. "Well, I just thought the whole expedition idea wasn't that great." Elrond raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Do enlighten us," he beckoned. I couldn't tell if he was angry or not, but I continued in my explanation.

"Well, it's just the structure of the group, really. I mean, you've got all these representatives to go on this quest who are all part of different backgrounds and whatnot. But you failed to practice any diversity in terms of gender. Yeah, you've got Elves, Dwarves, and Men, but you have no women. And because of that, you're misrepresenting the people more than anything." We had a similar argument in Debate Freshman year about the government's representation of the people and whether or not it was effective. I wasn't sure if I was really making a point, but I guess I was saying something rather than being silent and embarrassing myself.

"Are you suggesting that _you_ would be an ideal candidate for such a position?" inquired Gimli sarcastically. I shrugged.

"Well…why not? I know how to fence and some archery. I can cook and I could do those small menial tasks that no one ever wants to do. And I can do a little sewing," I replied. "I wouldn't be a burden—I know how to take care of myself." I looked up at Elrond and shrugged. He was silent a moment or so before speaking.

"While Miss Logan was not necessarily…tactful in obtaining her observations, she does have a valid point." My mouth nearly fell open in shock. If anything, I was expecting Elrond to dismiss me with a slap on the wrist and a warning not to get caught up in things that were none of my concern. I didn't actually expect him to _agree_ with me.

"_Valid_?" exclaimed one of the unnamed Dwarves. "She is a foolish girl—she could barely lift a sword, much less wield one." I glared at him and decided not to share the fact that if I had a sword, he would be the first one to receive a heavy blow to that thick skull of his.

"And how do we know we can trust her?" demanded a man with graying hair. "This is a matter of grave importance, Lord Elrond. One mistake could result in the destruction of Middle-earth!"

"Rest assured that no one here has given me any reason not to trust them, and that includes Miss Logan," Elrond replied. "Her abilities with a sword will be determined at a later date, Master Dwarf," he nodded at the Dwarf who looked slightly put out. "Otherwise, I see nothing wrong in Miss Logan's request." I raised my eyebrows slightly. I wasn't aware that I had actually _made_ a request, but I decided that now would not be the best time to bring that up. Elrond looked quietly at the Council, searching for any signs of discontent. There were plenty, especially coming from the Dwarves, but he seemed to disregard them. "Very well," he said, nodding at me. I smiled slightly, feeling rather bewildered about the entire thing.

"Anyway, you're lucky you've got us," Pippin explained, gesturing to himself and Merry, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission." He paused. "Quest." Another pause. "Thing."

"Well that rules you out, Pip," Merry said quietly to his friend. Pippin did a bit of a double take before frowning and jabbing Merry in the stomach with his elbow.

"So be it," Elrond said with finality. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" The excitement was almost palpable and Merry and Pippin grinned happily at each other.

"Right," said Pippin. "Where're we going?"

As everyone smiled at Pippin's utter obliviousness, I couldn't help but wonder just exactly what I had gotten myself into. In the end, I decided to blame Elrond and leave it at that.

* * *

In all honesty, I had not expected the idea to last the night. I was pretty certain that Elrond would barge into my room the next morning and inform me that he had thought about it and realized that my presence would only be detrimental to the group.

So when a quiet knock sounded on my door, I opened it expecting to see Elrond's imposing form standing in the doorway. Instead, a thin servant stood in his place and abruptly informed me that Lord Elrond wished to see me in his study in ten minutes time. I thanked her and shut the door. I dressed quickly and nearly skipped to his study, expecting to receive my dismissal.

When I arrived at his study, I was greeted with some disconcerting news. Elrond had _not_ summoned me to give me my dismissal. Oh no. He had absolutely no problem with the idea. He had called me there to inform me that I needed to have a major crash course in Middle-earth history _and_ I needed to start learning Sindarin. I pointed out that I had no need of either, as I had been reading all those books he had lent me and Sindarin was entirely unnecessary on a quest that would most likely involve a lot of walking and fighting. But Elrond stated that I needed to learn Sindarin in order to fully assimilate with the Elven culture and also because it was good for me. He also explained that I had barely begun to scratch the surface of Middle-earth's history and then gestured to a stack of books, all of which were roughly six-hundred pages and said he wanted me to read _all_ of them. I started laughing because I thought he had been joking (the books probably had itty-bitty printing, too), but my laugh quickly turned to one of bitter irony when I realized he was serious on all counts. Elrond then explained he wanted to meet with me at least once a day starting the next day to start combined lessons of history and Sindarin. Plus he wanted me to meet with someone to evaluate my fencing skills.

"What's the hurry?" I asked, shifting the books in my arms. "It's not like we're leaving next week."

"You are set to depart in two months' time," Elrond informed me. "That is hardly enough time to get you started. Now I suggest you make use of the time given to you and begin reading." He waved a hand dismissively at me and I slumped out of the room and into the garden.

Nothing really prepared me for lessons with Elrond. I read a good portion of the books he recommended—however, I found it next to impossible to actually retain much information. Perhaps it was because I was unfamiliar with the world to begin with. Perhaps it was because all the names were often comical sounding and next to impossible to pronounce. Either way, Elrond found it necessary to lecture me on these key points for long stretches of time.

I realize that Elrond was making a huge concession for me and that I should not only be grateful that he was allowing me to go, but also taking the time to help me. However, I don't think I should be at fault for getting distracted and staring out the window when the material started to get a little dry.

Unfortunately, Sindarin was not any easier.

I'm not much of a linguist—I struggled with French. Madame often said my pronunciation was a human tragedy and my grammar skills not too far behind. The worst part was she said it in French, meaning I could not understand her to begin with. Then she would sigh loudly and revert to English, adding that I could always ask for help if I needed it. I would always decline—Madame was often referred to as "Le Vulture" behind her back and I had no desire to spend more time with her than necessary.

Thus my contempt for language.

The vocabulary came relatively easy—it was the grammar and verbal part that I struggled with. My pronunciation was terrible and while Elrond did not use the word "tragedy," he did say I looked like a fish when I pronounced certain words.

My work outside the study came easier. I spent a few hours working with Aragorn, who seemed like a nice enough guy. He said my archery was "decent" (the phys ed teacher had a temporary lapse of judgment and decided to introduce an archery unit in my sophomore year. The idea lasted about two weeks before parents started to complain about injuries sustained during gym). I had taken a fencing class at the Y for about two years, so I was slightly more familiar swordplay than archery. However, I was rather out of practice, so I was a little off. Aragorn suggested that I practice with him several times a week to get back into form.

So between that and Elrond's lessons, I was both busy and sore. Fortunately for everyone else, this meant that I was more inclined to sit down with a book in my free time rather than talk, which I suppose was a welcome break for those who tire of hearing my voice.

* * *

There is one particular morning in Rivendell that sticks out in my mind as one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. I suppose I should record it here for the amusement of whoever might be reading this.

It was morning and I padded quietly to the bathroom to wash up. At this point, I managed to make several unpleasant discoveries.

My monthly friend had arrived.

And in addition to electricity, motor vehicles, and telephones, I found Middle-earth was missing another key invention almost vital to American life. This time, it was Kotex.

"Oh, for the love of…" I muttered. When digging through the cabinets produced no further results, I decided the best idea would be to locate Arwen.

I must have made a rather comical sight, sprinting barefoot down the hallway wrapped in a bathrobe, my hair in total disarray, all the while hoping that I wouldn't suddenly spring a leak.

I knocked frantically on the door for a good five minutes before a passing servant informed me that Arwen had gone out for a morning ride with Aragorn. The logic of this still continues to escape me. Unfortunately, Arwen's riding habits left me in a rather compromising situation. My lack of female companionship forced me to turn to one of the most unlikely people.

Elrond.

Not that I am suggesting that he has very feminine qualities. He just happened to be the only one around at the time.

I barged into his study without knocking. He looked up at me quizzically from a document he had been studying prior to my unplanned arrival.

"Haley," he greeted, his poise remaining remarkably intact, "I was not expecting you for at least three hours' time."

"Er…well, I've got a bit of a problem," I replied, picking at my fingernails to avoid eye contact. I proceeded to explain my situation sotto voce, my face burning with embarrassment the entire time. When I finished with my explanation, I looked up to find him sitting with his lips pressed tightly together, most likely to suppress a fit of laughter. He gave me some quick instructions, his voice somewhat shakier than usual. "Thank you for your help," I replied, once he had finished.

"You're welcome," he responded, successfully fighting back another chortle. I glared at him for a moment.

"See if I ever come to you for help again," I muttered before exiting and leaving him to his own devices.

That occasion marked one of the few times I saw the Lord of Imladris display that much emotion. However, I'm not about to bring it up again in order to see it.

A/N: (cries) I know. The tenth member thing is _so _clichéd and it's been done to death, but otherwise, this story would cease to have a plot. So give it a chance and see what happens. Those of you who are reading this revised version will notice that I've changed a lot of stuff in this chapter. I've always felt this chapter could have been better—the original seemed forced and a little corny every time I read it. In regards to the last scene—these problems are very rarely mentioned when girls get dropped into Middle-earth and I thought it would be a…interesting plot device type thing.


	9. Chapter 9: Departure

Disclaimer: Kiddy Korner: Unscramble these nifty words: I tnod wno yanhignt. I know it isn't hard. What am I your personal entertainer? Okay, enough of Kiddy Korner. If you're good and review, maybe you'll get another one…man, it's good being on a sugar high…

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**Chapter Nine: Departure**

****

As our departure date drew nearer, I found myself caught up in the paradox of wanting desperately to leave Rivendell and at the same time longing to be left behind. My desire to go was primarily the result of my lessons with Elrond. While I found no other fault in the Elf lord, spending over three hours a day with him grew to be increasingly tedious, especially when people would make a point of strolling lazily past the window, enjoying the nice weather when I was cooped up inside with a mountain of books and a determined Elf. I was looking forward to the time when such lessons would no longer dominate my schedule.

However, I was a little apprehensive about leaving Rivendell. Yes, I was growing increasingly tired of Elrond's never-ending lectures, but I liked Rivendell. The life was quiet and simple. The only danger was Amdir, who was really more of an overgrown cat with a Napoleon complex. I wasn't looking forward to combat. I didn't want to travel on foot for months without even the basic comfort of an RV van.

And it didn't help that I never really found out how the books ended.

My last two days in Rivendell were mainly spent going from fear to elation at the nearing date of our departure, and my inconsistent emotions led to great distraction on my part. Elrond ended up dismissing me early from my lesson, after labeling me a lost cause and assigning another chapter to read.

Elrond sent for me in the late afternoon. I had sat down in the garden with the intent of reading the chapter he had assigned me, but had taken to staring blankly into space and worrying. Although I welcomed the distraction the written proclamation brought (Elrond was always big on formalities. That and he was also looking for ways to improve my Sindarin as he had substituted some words with Sindarin, a gesture that I did not appreciate), I was slightly wary, expecting another assignment or even another lesson.

I knocked quietly on the door before letting myself in, as was my custom. Elrond had tried to cure me of the habit, but his efforts had more or less been in vain. He was seated at his desk and another Elf sat quietly in the chair I usually occupied. I recognized him as one of the Elves from the Council, the somewhat outspoken one who had such strong opinions regarding the Ring and had volunteered to join the Fellowship. Unfortunately, I hadn't bothered to find out his name.

"Ah, Haley," Elrond greeted, neglecting to chastise me for barging in as he normally did.

"Lord Elrond," I replied. "Sir," I added, nodding at the anonymous Elf in the chair. He nodded in return, his expression somewhat amused, yet unreadable.

"Sit down," Elrond invited, gesturing to the other empty chair in front of his desk. I cautiously approached the chair and lowered myself onto the seat, folding my hands in my lap. "You know Prince Legolas of the Mirkwood realm?" he continued, nodding at the Elf seated next to me.

"Uh, yes. Of course," I lied, smiling at the both of them.

_I just called a prince 'sir',_ I thought to myself. _Way to look like an idiot._

"Now, as you know, you are due to leave Rivendell in two days' time," Elrond continued. "Naturally, our lessons will have to come to a halt." I nodded in agreement, trying to hide the big smile that was threatening to break out. "However," he added. I grimaced inwardly. There was a catch. I should have known. "…it is necessary for you to continue your study in Sindarin in order to maintain the knowledge you have acquired thus far and continue your growth. Since I am not accompanying you on this journey, I have asked Legolas to continue your instruction."

Crud.

I had really been looking forward to leaving those lessons in Rivendell.

"Well, wouldn't that be more of an inconvenience?" I asked. "I mean, I'm sure there'll be a lot more important things to do—it's not _imperative_ that I learn Sindarin." Elrond gave a small, knowing smile, almost as if he knew my true intention of shirking the language for as long as possible.

"It is a forty day journey to the Gap of Rohan," he explained. "There will be sufficient time and you will only be instructed when time permits." My shoulders sagged.

"Oh. Great," I replied with feigned enthusiasm. I looked at Legolas, feeling both annoyed and sympathetic. While I didn't necessarily _want_ to learn the language, I could not help but feel slightly sorry for him, as he obviously had no idea what he was getting himself into.

* * *

I had thought that packing for vacations was both annoying and tiresome. Unfortunately the next day I quickly realized that packing for vacations was fun compared to packing for a _quest_.

Elrond had taken it upon himself to arrange my packing for me. Most people would assume that by this, I was free to spend my last day in Rivendell as I wished. Oh no. Not when Elrond's in charge. I returned from our last lesson to find my room had been completely taken over with necessary provisions, my bed nearly hidden under layers of clothes. Before I could even open my mouth to protest, a servant whisked me into the bathroom with an armful of clothes to try on.

I would say that the clothing was the worst part. I hate shopping for clothes with a passion, which did not make the experience any more enjoyable. It seemed as soon as I had figured out which ones fit, someone would open the door and hand me another stack. When I had finally gotten through the pile on the bed, I was made to try on all the clothes that did fit again in order to make sure they were all comfortable. Then we had to go through the process of selecting the ones that I would take with me, which was no less painful.

While most essential items, such as food and most cookware, were being packed as group rather than individually, there was still an awful lot of stuff to choose from. After another painful process which I care not to repeat here, we decided on a canteen, sleeping roll, one knife and fork, a small bowl and plate, flint and steel, a comb, and of course, my clothes. Miraculously, it all managed to fit into a modest backpack. I was then presented with a sword and scabbard, a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and a small hunting knife.

Once it had been determined that I was well-prepared for the upcoming quest, the servants exited the room, taking the remaining, unneeded items with them. Once they were out of earshot, I raided my bathroom for soap. I ended up acquiring twelve bars of soap, three of which I borrowed (without permission) from Arwen, figuring what she doesn't know can't hurt her. After securing my stash within the confines of the backpack, I found a nail file and nail scissors and filed my nails down to practically nothing, deciding that long nails would only get in the way. I slipped both the scissors and the file into my backpack as an afterthought.

I sat quietly on the bed for a moment, staring at the three books stacked neatly upon the night table. I picked them up, running my hands over the smooth covers, inhaling the rich scent of leather. I removed the letter from where I had placed it between the pages of the first book and slipped it gently into my backpack. I rose from the bed and padded softly over to the desk, removing clean sheet of paper and a pen from the right hand drawer.

_This is the property of Haley Logan_, I printed neatly. _Please give these books to Lord Elrond to present to her upon her return to Rivendell._ Wiping a lone tear from my cheek, I wrapped some twine around the books and the paper and carefully placed the bundle on the night table. I then crawled on top of the bed, and stared at the ceiling for most of the night, knowing I was leaving a small part of myself behind.

* * *

The sun finally rose the next morning, the rosy fingers of dawn stretching languidly across the floor of my room. I let the light warm my toes, listening to the birds cooing and chirping in the trees.

_This is what you're leaving,_ I reminded myself as I watched the world slowly begin to wake up. _This peace, this comfort, this small familiarity in a world to which you are a stranger._The words echoed in the confines of my head, my heart beating apprehensively in my chest. I knew I could still change my mind—if I went to Elrond and explained my feelings, he probably would understand, especially if I shed a tear or two. But a small part of me hung resolutely to the idea. I had made this commitment and I was obliged to fulfill it.

With that thought, I slowly rose from my bed and went to bathe.

I was dressed and ready by the time the sun had fully risen in the sky. A maid had come in shortly after I finished dressing and after chastising me for not waiting for her, set about brushing my hair. She braided it into two long plaits, which she twisted into a secure knot at the nape of my neck. After smoothing a few unruly locks back into place, she left the room to bring me some breakfast, despite my protestations that I was not hungry. She returned with two poached eggs and three pieces of toast laden with butter, all of which she insisted I eat. Once I had successfully cleaned my plate, I wrapped a cloak around my shoulders and hefted my pack onto my back. I took one last look at my room, eyes lingering on the small stack of books on the night table, before turning away and slipping quietly down the hallway.

I found most of the Fellowship waiting outside, as was instructed. Boromir and Gandalf had yet to make an appearance and Aragorn was saying goodbye to Arwen in a somewhat secluded area. I knew there was some sort of romantic relationship going on between the two, but at that particular moment Arwen looked deeply saddened and somewhat angered while Aragorn's expression was covered in a veil of impassivity. I glanced at the couple a moment more before allowing them their privacy.

The hobbits had taken it upon themselves to load up a shaggy brown pony I heard Sam refer to as "Bill". Merry and Pippin were having a grand old time, laughing and carrying on as though they were preparing to go on a picnic rather than a quest to destroy evil. If everyone had the same worldview as Merry and Pippin, it would be a much happier place.

Although, judging from the numerous dinners I'd spent with the two, the entire populace would be a lot drunker far more often.

Frodo and Sam laughed good naturedly at the pair, but Frodo seemed somewhat nervous and slightly anxious, which I suppose I can understand, seeing as he was carrying an instrument of evil on his person. His uneasiness passed onto Sam, who constantly asked if he was all right. Frodo would then give a small smile and reply "I'm fine, Sam."

While the hobbits were amusing to observe, Gimli took it upon himself to spoil the sight by alternately scowling at me and Legolas. I'm not sure which irked him more: the fact that Legolas paid absolutely no attention to him or that I found his anger so incredibly amusing that I had problems keeping a straight face. Either way, his scowl seemed to grow deeper with every passing moment.

Boromir arrived next, did not look where he was going, and promptly knocked into me, sending me flying to the ground.

"Oh, forgive me, milady," he apologized, helping me to my feet.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, brushing myself off. My comb and a bar of soap had been knocked out of my bag and I bent to pick them up.

"See," Gimli grumbled to himself, "we have not yet begun and she is already fretting about her appearance." Placing the soap back in my pack, I turned to face him.

"No Gimli," I replied sweetly, "unlike you, I wish to kill the enemy with my blade rather than my smell." The Dwarf's eyes narrowed and he stormed off in the other direction, muttering to himself. However, I saw him later discreetly sniff his underarms. I was indisposed for the next two minutes in a fit of laughter.

Aragorn rejoined the group shortly after I regained control of myself, Gandalf trailing close behind. Arwen stood on the edges of the group with other Elves who had come to see us off, her eyes downcast and troubled. I quietly approached her, tapping her lightly on the arm.

"Hey," I greeted. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she replied, almost too quickly. "Why shouldn't I be?" She said this as though she were trying to convince herself.

"Okay…good," I replied, deciding not to push the issue.

"I will miss you," she said, gently patting my shoulder, seeming to purposely change the subject.

"Same here. I'm starting to get nervous," I confided. She smiled softly.

"Do not let worry trouble you. You will be safe," she reassured me. I tried to find comfort in her words, but uneasiness still dominated my feelings.

"Thank you," I replied.

"You will look after him for me," she said softly, her voice lowering to a mere whisper. I did not have to ask who 'he' was—the deep sadness and unshed tears in her eyes said more than words ever could.

"I will," I promised. She squeezed my hand gently, her lips turned up in sad, but grateful smile.

"Valar protect you," she said.

"Thank you," I repeated, feeling sad as I realized again how much I would be leaving behind.

"_Namárië,_" she murmured in parting. I returned with the same word, the syllables feeling final, yet strangely beautiful as they rolled off my tongue.

Elrond chose that moment to make his entrance and immediately decided he needed to have a word with me. That conversation primarily consisted of about six reminders to pay attention and work hard on Sindarin and a few other warnings to be careful and use common sense. While Elrond is incredibly wise and respected, pretty much everyone was listening and it produced the same level of discomfort as a parent loudly addressing their child as "honey bunny" at the bus stop in front of everyone and reminding them to be sure to use the bathroom after lunch.

"I wish you luck," he said in closing, which was a great relief.

"Thank you," I replied, hoping to end this conversation quickly.

"And go kick some ass," he bade, which was a quote I had used on numerous occasions. I grinned and tried to hold back a rollicking fit of laughter. You have not experienced true amusement if you have never heard the lord of Imladris use the phrase "go kick some ass" in a sentence.

"I will. Thank you for everything," I replied. He smiled benignly.

"May the Valar protect you," he said. I nodded in reply and made my way back to the odd assortment that I was now part of.

Elrond took his place in front of the Fellowship, his level and dignified voice ringing clear in the morning air.

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom," he began. "On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." This brought me mixed feelings of comfort and uneasiness. While I appreciated the fact that there was no ultimatum about the length of travel, I still felt as though I would be obligated to go as far as everyone else. The problem was that I wasn't sure if my endurance would match the rest of the party's. "Farewell," he continued. "Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you." I bowed my head with most everyone else in response, the feeling of closure hanging heavy in the air. My time at Rivendell had drawn to an end.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer," Gandalf announced, moving slightly to the right in order to accommodate Frodo's exit. The hobbit turned slowly away from the gathering of Elves in front of him, passing quietly beneath the stone arch that marked the entrance to Rivendell. I nodded briefly at Elrond and Arwen before taking my place behind Merry in line.

"Mordor, Gandalf," I heard Frodo whisper, "is it left or right?"

"Left," the wizard replied. I don't know if it was the innocence of this exchange combined with the fact that I was leaving, but I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes and a sad smile tug at my lips.

Our pace was steady as we moved away from Rivendell. I allowed myself one last look at its stunning walls and rich foliage before turning away, locking my eyes on the road in front of me, as the only home I knew slowly disappeared behind me.


	10. Chapter 10: So It Begins

Disclaimer: Hmmm....let's try a poem today:

I don't own a thing,

Including _Lord of the Rings_,

So sue me if you choose,

But the case you will lose!

A/N: This chapter, Chapter Ten, is also known as Chapter "Hey! Ten, get it? That's the NEW and IMPROVED Fellowship number!" cleverly named by Reikon. So this chapter is therefore dedicated to her and Haldir because he always seems to make appearances in her reviews.

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**Chapter Ten: So It Begins**

(AKA "Hey! Ten, get it? That's the NEW and IMPROVED Fellowship number!")

We walked the entire day, barely stopping at noon to eat. By the time night began to close around us, I was nearing physical exhaustion for the first time in Middle-earth. I nearly inhaled my dinner, not bothering to join in the quiet conversations around me. Legolas and Aragorn had been assigned watch for the night, so after I cleaned up the remains of my dinner, I brought out my sleeping roll, wrapped it tightly around myself, curled up against a nearby rock, shut my eyes, and let my mind wander as I had been accustomed to do in the absence of real sleep.

I had my eyes shut for all of five minutes when someone gently shook my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find Legolas sitting patiently beside me.

"I put all my stuff away, I swear," I explained to the Elf. "And if we're missing any food, you ought to be checking with Merry and Pippin."

"Sindarin," he reminded me. I heaved a long sigh.

"Could it wait?" I asked. "It's been a really long day and my feet are seriously killing me." Legolas shook his head patiently.

"It will take but a few moments of your time," he explained, tugging gently at my arm. I sighed, muttered a few curses under my breath, and crawled out of the warmth of my sleeping roll, sliding a cloak on over my shoulders as an afterthought.

However good his intentions may have been, Legolas managed to increase my dislike for language that night. I suppose I wasn't too helpful, as I spaced off at least five separate times when he was diagramming sentences, meaning he had to repeat everything he had just said. In addition to my general incompetence with the language, Legolas was ridiculously patient with me, even more so than Elrond. This proved to be a bit of a hindrance, as the only thing that stopped him from going on was the fact that it was growing too dark to see the paper he was writing on. Well, perhaps there was some exaggeration on my part, but at least he let me go. I crawled back into the sleeping roll and shut my eyes before he could change his mind.

The night passed slowly and rather uneventfully. Being confined to the indoors for all of my nights in Rivendell, I was not used to the eerie sounds that accompanied the night. Crickets, owls, foxes, and mice were just some of the disturbances that caused me to sit upright and look wildly around, half expecting an armed warrior to pop out from behind one of the trees. The third or fourth time this happened, Aragorn told me to relax and if there was any trouble, he would be sure to wake everyone up. I think it was more for his sake than mine that he told me this. I tried to relax and ignore everything after that, but once I stopped paying attention to the animals, I started noticing that the trees and stars were talking and whispering amongst themselves. It was significantly easier to ignore these things when I was in Rivendell or occupied by walking, but now that I was unoccupied by any task other than getting some rest, they all seemed pretty chatty. Eventually I was able to grow accustomed to it, or at least block most of it out, but not before repeating "shut up, shut up" constantly in my head.

Dawn finally came and as soon as the sun had risen fully above the horizon line, I got up and put away my sleeping roll. Upon rising, I realized that my legs were incredibly sore from yesterday's excursion and my back and neck ached from lying on the ground all night. I stretched and hobbled out of the campsite in search of water. I found a small spring not too far away and washed my face and hands after refilling my canteen. A small cluster of sweet smelling herbs grew around the edge of the water, so I clipped a small sprig. Upon returning to camp, I asked both Sam and Aragorn whether or not they were poisonous. After determining that they were not, I chewed quietly on the leaves, muttering about the lack of toothpaste when anyone asked.

* * *

The days began to pass quickly, melting into a long line of long periods of traveling marked by somewhat insignificant conversation. I grew less anxious as the days passed, falling easily into the routine of travel, and not quite as paranoid when the night rolled around. My leg muscles slowly grew accustomed to the increased activity and while my back and neck remained stiff in the mornings, I grew used to the sleeping conditions and was able to recover more quickly as time passed. Sindarin, unfortunately, continued throughout this time, and while my improvement was minimal at best, Legolas remained encouraging and patient throughout the entire ordeal, which is a credit to his character. He was relatively easy to get along with and didn't seem to mind overly much when I chose to walk with him and ask questions about Middle-earth in general (which, I'm sure got rather repetitive).

Gimli, however, was a completely different story.

I normally tried to avoid him because he had a short temper and carried a sharp ax. However, it seemed to me that despite my efforts to avoid him, we usually ended up arguing about one thing or another. Generally, it was something inherently stupid that we both felt passionately about. Our altercations usually ended with the intervention of Aragorn and Gandalf, and sometimes Boromir. It was amusing to a certain extent, seeing as I could probably sit on him and do some severe damage, yet he saw himself as this fierce warrior who would stop at nothing short of killing me. He reminded me of an aggressive toy poodle that constantly launches itself at people's pants legs and expects to do serious injury. However, I couldn't pick up Gimli by the scruff of the neck, call him a "bad Dwarf", and lock him in a crate with a muzzle. Not if I wanted to live. I did bring it up with Aragorn, who ignored me.

Despite the fact that he did not necessarily agree with my standpoint on Dwarf control, I liked Aragorn. He was somewhat aloof for the first part of our journey, but he grew much more personable as time passed. He was rather mysterious, like a conventional movie hero with a shady past, but I suppose that made him more intriguing. The knowledge and skill he possessed was remarkable, one of the most admirable qualities about him.

In contrast, the hobbits were the easiest to get along with and also the most transparent. I don't mean that in a negative sense—it was just easier to tell what they were feeling, which was refreshing when most everyone else insisted upon being secretive. Merry and Pippin were the most jovial, while Sam was the most optimistic. Frodo was the quietest of the four, and was sometimes a little moody, which is understandable, given the amount of pressure he was under. However, he never used that as an excuse to justify his actions, nor did he let that mar any attempt at being kind to anyone else. He was quite an amazing little fellow—you don't meet people like that often.

Of the nine companions, I knew Boromir the least well. His behavior at the Council had negatively affected my opinion of him and I initially labeled him as haughty and slightly arrogant, which I later realized was unfair of me. However, despite his somewhat smug words, he did prove to be a noble man with a bit of a soft spot, especially for the hobbits. Although I found him agreeable, there was still something about him that struck me as odd, a brief glint in his eye that just seemed slightly out of place. It would be gone from his countenance before I could give it proper consideration. It was not until later that we would all discover what it was. Until then, I remained unsure and slightly cautious around him.

I think that Gandalf was really the one who kept the Fellowship going in its early days. He was liked by everyone in the group, and served as both the mediator and leader. I always felt reassured in Gandalf's presence, as though he had made a silent promise to take care of everything that might go wrong. There was a drawing force about him, something that made you crave his presence. It was for that reason that I spent so much time listening to him after dinner. He was a treasure trove of stories and he had the ability to captivate even those who had sworn off fairytales as childish.

Although Gandalf was well-liked for so many reasons, it was not until we stood at Khazad-dûm that I realized why he was so special to me.

He was like the grandfather I never had.

A/N: Okay guys, this is the end of the first installment of the revised TTAE. Let me know what you think. I will go through the same process with chapters 11-20 and get them up ASAP. Sorry for the long delay—I've been terribly busy with school ending and finals and whatnot. Thank you for your patience! Review and let me know how these new chapters are.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: Nothing! ¡Nada! Rien! Nichts! Non niente! O Nada! That's what I own in six different languages (Spanish, French, German, Italian, and Portuguese). Courtesy of a nifty translator site.

A/N: Well, I start school Wednesday, so chapters may be more spaced apart depending on how much work I have and other stuff. I'm trying to get the next couple chapters done so no one comes after me with pitchforks…

Chapter Eleven

            We had been traveling for nearly a month when things became even more bizarre. We were resting on a hill, strewn with large boulders and small trees and shrubs, stunted by the wind. Boromir was teaching Merry and Pippin how to fence, while Aragorn looked on, occasionally shouting advice. Gimli and Gandalf sat a little ways off, talking about something or another.

            "Probably comparing the length of their beards or something," I said in an undertone. Legolas glanced back at me, with the hint of a smile.

            _I have to be more careful about that,_ I thought to myself. There was a loud commotion and Merry and Pippin suddenly launched themselves at Boromir and tackled him. Boromir was knocked to the ground at the mercy of the two hobbits, provoking a chorus of laughter from me.

            "Boromir, getting beaten up by hobbits, eh? Getting a little slow there, tough guy?" I called. He flipped me off (I had showed him how to do that at dinner awhile ago because I was bored). I laughed again and fell off the rock that I had been perched on.

            "What's that?" I heard Sam ask as I scrambled up off the dirt floor. I looked in the direction he was pointing. A dark cloud had appeared on the horizon and was moving quickly in our direction. It didn't seem particularly out of the ordinary, but there was something unnerving about it.

            "It's nothing, just a wisp of cloud," Gimli replied. I rolled my eyes.

            "It's moving fast, against the wind," observed Boromir. I looked closer and found his observation correct.

            "Crebain from Dunland!" shouted Legolas.

            "Hide!" commanded Aragorn.

            And as usual, I was absolutely clueless. But it sounded evil, so I figured I should hide. Besides, everyone was panicking and running around like chickens with their heads cut off, so I decided that it was probably not the most opportune time to ask questions. I snatched my pack and crawled under some bushes. Soon, everyone was completely concealed in their own hiding places and there was an eerie silence.

            And then the crows came.

            They arrived, screeching louder than a psychotic two year old who had one too many Winnie the Pooh Fruit Snack packets. There were hundreds of them, swooping and circling in the air. I heard a distinct 'plop' right next to my ear. I didn't even have to look to know what it was, but I did anyway, just to see if it had fallen close enough to splatter on my face, clothes, or hair. It hadn't, which surprised me because things like that seem to happen to me constantly. They continued to pass overhead, leaving me half in fear and half in disgust. They finally left, quickly disappearing on the horizon. I wriggled out of the bushes and rejoined the rest of the Fellowship.

            "Spies for Saruman," muttered Gandalf, peering at the horizon. "The passage south is being watched. We will have to go over the pass of Caradhras." 

"What?" I asked. No one heard me, as they were busy packing their belongings. I sighed, muttering to myself about their ignorance and shouldered my pack.

            "Oh Legolas…" I crooned in a singsong voice. I had some serious questioning to do and Legolas was least likely to lose his temper and tell me to buzz off.

*

            We stood at the foot of the mountain, taking a moment to look up at it. I sighed. I did not like it. It was humongous, seeming to pierce the very sky above us. The snow glistened in the sunlight and the few trees I could see were lush and green. Ordinarily it would have been breathtaking, but there was something else about it that just didn't appeal to me. But I really had no choice in the matter, so I remained silent.

            Without much discussion we began the trek up the mountain. The slope was steep, and the snow was slippery. But I discovered one positive thing: elves can walk on snow. I enjoyed that immensely—though it did not stop me from being klutzy and slipping and falling halfway down the mountain before someone stopped me. Gimli found this amusing. Stupid dwarf.

            I was incredibly happy about my newfound abilities. But I suppose for every positive thing that happens on this mountain, there must be something negative to make things worse. 

             I made this important discovery when we stopped to camp for the night: it is damn cold when the sun goes down.

            And Legolas, being who he is, would not forgo lessons.

            "Puh-leeeeeeeeez?" I begged, wrapped up in my cloak and halfway into my sleeping roll. He shook his head.

            "No. It won't be long," he replied. I glared at him.

            "I'm too cold to speak Sindarin." He stared at me impassively. "Oh, fine," I relented. "If the camp was on fire, he wouldn't let me leave unless we had completed lessons," I muttered under my breath.

            "I heard that."

            _I've got to stop doing that,_ I thought to myself, taking my seat beside him. _At least he can't read minds…_

*

            I slept late the next day and Aragorn shook me awake in the late morning. I grumbled and packed up my stuff, slinging my pack over my shoulder. Breakfast was cold and the hobbits had eaten most of the eggs so I was stuck with cold sausage and soggy toast. We set off, I in a rather poor mood, constantly having to restrain myself from tossing Gimli down the mountain every time he found it necessary to laugh at my clumsiness.

            And surprise, surprise, bad things continued to happen.

            The first of these instances was more bizarre rather than bad. I had been walking, staring at my feet, willing them not to slip, when I noticed that everyone had stopped. I glanced back to see what had distracted them. Frodo had evidently fallen and Aragorn had steadied him. I didn't see what the big deal was until I noticed Boromir held the chain, which held the Ring.

            "Boromir," warned Aragorn.

            "It is a strange fate that we suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing…" he reached forward as if to caress the Ring.

            "Boromir!" exclaimed Aragorn. He withdrew his hand and blinked as though he had just been awoken from a dream. "Give the Ring to Frodo." He slowly handed the Ring to Frodo.

            "As you wish. I care not." Frodo snatched the Ring from him. Boromir chuckled uneasily, tousled his hair, and shouldered his shield as though nothing of great importance had happened. I felt a chill go up my spine.

            It was too obvious that he did care.

*

            Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, what with Boromir acting so odd and my crabby mood, it began to snow.

At first it was a light sprinkle, a pleasant snowfall that lifted my spirits. But it gradually increased, the flakes growing larger and falling in thicker sheets. The ground became coated with snow. It was no real problem for me, but the hobbits were nearly waist-deep in the snow. After awhile, Boromir and Aragorn began carrying them. The snow continued to rise, until it was up to their own waists. Laboriously, they struggled through the snow, towing the hobbits with them. I volunteered to carry one of the hobbits to make it a little easier for them, but they declined, claiming they were no trouble at all. 

Men and their stupid pride.

            So we slowly made our way along. Once I made the mistake of looking over the edge of the path.  We were incredibly high off the ground, jagged boulders waiting to meet an unlucky traveler at the bottom. I tried to stay close to the mountain walls after that.

            And still the snow showed no sign of relenting.

            I walked slowly, feeling a little tired and very cold. Suddenly I heard a deep echoing voice, bellowing phrases in a strange language. I concluded that I was hallucinating or the wind was playing tricks on me. Legolas suddenly strode forward and stood at the head of the path, listening.

            "There is a foul voice on the air!" he exclaimed. I began to contemplate the stability of his sanity as well as my own.

            "Saruman," hissed Gandalf, seeming to hear the voice too. I began to wonder if we were all nuts from being at such high altitudes when a loud groan from up ahead pierced the air. Several large rocks tumbled down from the peak of the mountain, falling into the rocky pit below us. 

            Gandalf stood up tall, staff in hand, and began shouting what I assumed was a counter-spell, his voice rising to mingle with Saruman's. There was a crack and a fork of lightening struck the mountain, causing a huge amount of snow to cascade down the mountain. I pressed myself up against the wall, hoping that I would survive.

            With an audible 'whump', the snow captured me in a chilly embrace, the force knocking the breath right out of me. I dug frantically at the walls of snow around me, my lungs craving air. I felt the snow give way and a rush of air stream in. I took long, deep breaths. I kicked my way up to the top and found most everyone else free of their white prison. Gimli suddenly popped up, with a growl, his beard covered in snow. I giggled, despite the seriousness of the situation.

            "We must get off the mountain!" Aragorn yelled above the wind.

            "We must take the Pass of Rohan or take the road west to my city!" Boromir exclaimed.

            "Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued.

            "If we cannot go over the mountain, I say let us go under it!" exclaimed Gimli, his frosted beard wagging comically. For some reason he reminded me of a Muppet. I tried to keep a straight face, but ended up hiding my smile with my hands. 

            "Let the Ring bearer decide," said Gandalf finally. Everyone looked toward Frodo, who seemed deep in thought.

            "We will go through the mines," he said finally. Gandalf nodded, looking somewhat apprehensive.

            "So be it." 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I own…the nifty English-Elvish dictionary in front of me, my soundtrack of _A Walk to Remember_, and my messed up copy of _Lord of the Rings_, which, at one point refers to Frodo as Frondo, (my new extra-special sacred copies with the movie art covers are in my room, as they are too sacred to leave my room. Am I obsessive or what?) but NOTHING else! Leave me alone Peter Jackson! *makes a x with fingers and backs away. *

A/N: Kudos and special thanks to Shy who inspired me to revise Chapter Eleven. You can read it if you really want to…some may have already. But thanks! You get…a special sticker thing! * presents a sticker that says "Wowser. How spiff-tastic." * I like those words…heh. Moving on…

Chapter Twelve

            We slowly made our way down the mountain, defeated, exhausted, and thoroughly frozen. We made good time and were able to camp at the foot of the mountain, where we had rested several days ago. I helped myself to a meager meal of bread and a bruised apple, my movements mechanical. At last I crawled into my sleeping roll, and collapsed, utterly exhausted.

            Sometime later I felt a hand gently shake my shoulder, rousing me from the peaceful half-sleep I had been drawn into. I groaned and rolled over, mumbling a barely audible "go away."

            "Haley," a somewhat familiar voice whispered. I reluctantly opened my eyes to find Legolas bent over, shaking me gently.

            "Whassa matta?" I asked groggily, almost knowing what the answer would be.

            "Sindarin," he said simply.

            If I had a pillow I would have hit him with it.

*

            The next morning we set off a little later than usual, our destination being Moria, which was some fifteen miles away from Caradhras. I had learned from Legolas that it was a mine valued greatly by the dwarves. Actually, I would describe their fondness for the mines as possessive, but that's just me. I wasn't particularly psyched about it, but Gimli went on and on about it as though it was the greatest thing since sliced bread…or even better, chocolate. He promised us a "royal welcome" from his cousin and babbled on and on about the riches beneath the mountain and a bunch of other stuff that I blocked out after awhile. When it became increasingly difficult to not run screaming back to Rivendell, I began walking with Legolas and started questioning him again. His voice drowned out Gimli's and it was good payback for waking me up last night.

            We finally reached the walls of Moria a little while after dinner. By then Gimli had run out of things to say—that and Aragorn was beginning to look a little irritated—so he had busied himself by twisting his head every which way in order to see everything at once. I had to admit, the walls were impressive. They shot up toward the sky, black and mysterious against their surroundings. They were not particularly smooth or polished, but surprisingly the creases and cracks in the rock made it even more beautiful.

Though I was incredibly awed by the walls, there was something rather odd about the place: there was no one in sight. You would think that a place so utterly sacred to the dwarves would have millions of disgruntled, axe-wielding guards—or just many Gimli clones—surrounding Moria. But the place seemed abandoned and dead, an ominous silence shrouding the walls. I felt slightly unnerved; similar to the dislike and fear I had experienced on Caradhras. A twig snapped and I nearly jumped out of my skin in fear. 

And still the silence grew. 

            There was no sign of life whatsoever, even as we went around the lake that had been so inconveniently placed between the walls and us. It was too quiet; the silence seemed artificial, as though it was there to hide something. It was incredibly tempting to shout to break the quiet, but I decided that my companions would not appreciate it.

When we reached the walls, I pressed my palm against them, letting the rough texture imprint itself on my fingertips. Gandalf felt along the walls beside me, evidently looking for a door or another form of entrance. He rubbed some dirt off with his hands. I could make out a faint carving that twisted and flowed in many directions.

            "Isildun," he murmured. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."

            Almost exactly after he uttered those words, the clouds parted and the gentle light of the moon shone through. I watched the walls. The design began to glow with a soft light, somewhat reminding me of the glow sticks I used to get at Halloween parties. 

"It reads 'The Gates of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak Friend, and enter.'"

            "What do you s'pose that means?" inquired Merry.

            "Simple," replied Gandalf. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors open." He placed the head of his staff on the door and bellowed a short phrase. 

Silence. Nothing happened.

            He tried again, this time using a different password.

            Still nothing.

            After many failed tries, most of us spread out on the ground while Gandalf searched his memory for the correct password. Aragorn and Sam unpacked the pony, "Bill" and set him loose, as we couldn't take him into the mines. I felt bad for Sam—he had a loved that pony and looked rather forlorn as he watched Bill trot off into the distance. I sighed. Hobbits just seem to have a way of being unbelievably cute and irresistable when they're upset. It was hard to not run over and hug him reassuringly. Merry and Pippin threw rocks into the lake until Aragorn told them to knock it off. As for me—well, I had _planned_ to use this time to relax, but Legolas decided to go over some vocabulary.

            "Cloak," he said.

            "_Gollo_," I muttered in reply.

            "Make the 'o' a little more—"

            "It's a riddle," Frodo said suddenly. I ignored Legolas and focused my attention on Frodo. "What's the elvish word for 'friend'?" Legolas looked at me expectantly.

            "_Mellon_," Gandalf replied before I could say anything. There was a loud creak and the doors swung open. Gandalf looked as though Christmas had come early and stepped inside, a tiny light on the end of his staff glowing in the darkness. I gathered up my belongings, following after the others. I cautiously stepped into the darkness, the flickering light of Gandalf's staff my only guide.

            "Am I correct in assuming that you would have answered that correctly?" asked Legolas, falling into step beside me.

            "Legolas, there is and evil dark lord living in Mordor who plans to take over the world with the contents of a jewelry box, and right now we must march through a creepy dwarven mine to avoid being killed by Saruman the Psychotic. I don't think it will matter much if I can remember how to say 'friend' in Sindarin today or tomorrow," I replied, patting him on the shoulder. He shook his head.

            "I don't know what to do with you."

            "Well, you don't have to wake me up to—" 

            "Soon, Master Elf—" interrupted Gimli.

            "Oh what am I? Chopped liver?" I asked, annoyed at his interruption and his failure to recognize me. He glared and continued.

            "…You will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves!"

            "Isn't dwarven hospitality an oxymoron?" I asked, before I realized what I was saying. I clamped my hand over my mouth, hoping Gimli wasn't in one of his 'moods.' I swear that dwarf had permanent PMS or something. Gimli frowned at my comment, but thankfully, did not look murderous. Legolas looked slightly amused and Merry and Pippin giggled to themselves. 

            "Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone! This is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!" he continued. Not having anything else sarcastic to say and having the wish of keeping my head, I remained silent. 

            "This isn't a mine," Boromir said quietly. "It's a tomb!" The light from Gandalf's staff brightened, revealing hundreds of small skeletons lying about the floor.

            "Eww…oh that's…eww…" I said, trying to inch away from the scattered corpses.

            "No!" Gimli cried, bending down to examine the remains. For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for him. Legolas bent down and retrieved an arrow from a ribcage. 

            "Goblins!" he whispered.

            "We make for the Gap of Rohan! We should never have come here! Get out! Get out!" Boromir exclaimed, fear dripping from his words.

            "Strider!" Sam suddenly shouted. I spun around. Frodo was being yanked roughly across the ground by a slimy tentacle that had emerged from the water. Aragorn rushed forward, his sword unsheathed and gleaming in the moonlight. I quickly followed with the rest of the Fellowship. Sam sliced off the tentacle that had grabbed hold of Frodo. The remainder slithered back into the water and there was a pause, almost as if it had been defeated. Suddenly, dozens of wormlike tentacles surfaced and plucked Frodo off the ground, and pulled him out far over the water. Aragorn and Boromir launched forward, hacking at the slithering tentacles. I withdrew my sword, watching to see where I was needed. A head slowly rose out of the water. It was hideous, seeming to be related to an octopus of some sort. I also thought it bore an uncanny resemblance to my seventh grade math teacher, but I figured that this was not the best time to mention it.

            I heard a soft hiss as an arrow whizzed by my ear and found it's mark in the creature's head. I glanced behind me and saw Legolas readying another arrow. I stood on the edge of the shore, with my sword in hand, feeling incredibly stupid because I had no idea what to do. Aragorn chopped off the tentacle that held Frodo suspended over the water. He fell, landing in the arms of Boromir. Another arrow sped through the air and hit the creature in the eye, giving Boromir and Aragorn enough time to get out of the water.

            "Into the mines!" yelled Gandalf. He didn't need to tell me twice. I sprinted as hard as I could back into the foreboding darkness of Moria, the rest of the Fellowship trailing behind me. There was a crack and then a loud rumble. I glanced back and saw the gates crumble behind me. Large sections of the stone ceiling were knocked loose and spiraled down to the floor.

            "OH SHIT!" I screeched, picking up the pace. I ran until I hit the stairs, falling with a sickening crunch onto a skeleton. Suddenly, the rumbling ceased, followed by an eerie silence. A small light began to glow on the end of Gandalf's staff.

            "Now we have but one choice," he said. "We must face the long dark of Moria Be on your guard! There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world…where's Haley?"

            "I'm here," I called, trying to disentangle myself from the skeleton. Aragorn extended his hand and hoisted me up. I brushed myself off, shuddering. That was perhaps the grossest thing that had ever happened to me. I looked at the crushed bones. "Sorry about that buddy." 

            "Right. It is a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope our presence may go unnoticed," Gandalf continued, leading us further into the depths of Moria.

            _Stupid octopus…_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: Fred: Hi! We're Blue Kat's brain cells!

                   Norman: Wait, I thought they didn't exist…

       Fred: Well there was a recent die-off due to massive consumption of      Spongebob Squarepants. But contrary to popular belief, there are always a few of us around to keep the fics coming and to prevent Kat from tripping all over herself.

       Ethel: But she does that anyway…

       Fred: No matter! Anyhow, we're here to tell you that Kat doesn't own anything.

      Norman: Nope. Not even Peter Jackson's socks.

      Fred: Anyhow, all you big shot lawyers with the brief cases and legal pads can move on to the next fic and look for people who claim they own things.

      Big Shot Lawyers: *grumble * Crud…*shuffle away *

      Pauline: Cause she doesn't. Own anything or claim to.

      Fred: Yeah. Now, we must be going. See ya later!

      Ethel: And always remember to wear kneepads when making a soufflé!

Chapter Thirteen

            Moria was terrifying.

            Darkness loomed everywhere, seeming to wait hungrily for an unsuspecting prey. The light from Gandalf's staff was merely enough to allow us to see the path in front of us. Otherwise the darkness remained unbroken. An uneasily silence settled over the Fellowship.

            We walked on for many hours, traveling through numerous caverns, following many a path into complete darkness. Here and there we would find possessions of the dwarves; weaponry, armor, pickaxes, long since abandoned and forgotten on the grimy floors. Some times Gimli would let out a cry laden with grief, bending to examine the items that had once belonged to his people. Gandalf would gently guide him forward, whispering reassuringly.

            After a while my motions became mechanical and weariness began to set in. I walked in a half sleep, starting awake occasionally.

            "We must rest," Boromir said weakly, steadying Sam for the third time. "The Halflings are exhausted and Haley is nearly asleep on her feet!"

            "I told you we should have not brought a woman! See how weak she is!" growled Gimli. I sighed.

            "Normally I would say something sarcastic right about now, but I'm too tired to think or to care and you're just trying to pick a fight because you're upset and feel the need to vent your anger," I replied, leaning against Aragorn for support. Gimli muttered to himself. Dwarves really need some mass therapy or something.

            "Boromir is right. Rest and some food would do us some good," Aragorn replied. Gandalf nodded.

            "I know of a place a little farther ahead that would be a good place to rest. But there will be no fire. Evil lurks near and a fire would only draw unwanted attention to us," said Gandalf, the light of his staff bobbing along merrily as he led us onward.

We went up a slope in the path and discovered a small, secluded alcove strewn with weaponry and other random objects that had once belonged to the dwarves. I cleared a small space for myself and collapsed on the floor, heedless of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years. 

Dinner…or maybe it was breakfast or lunch…I wasn't sure…was cold chicken, a carrot, half of a raw potato, and some water from my canteen. I haphazardly made my way through my meal, barely tasting the food I placed in my mouth. When I finished, I curled up in a ball, resting my head on my pack, not even bothering to unpack my sleeping roll. I drifted off immediately into the deepest sleep I had ever had since I arrived in Middle-earth.

*

I was shaken from my sleep sometime later. I opened my eyes, half expecting to find Legolas waking me for a Sindarin lesson. Fortunately for me and for Legolas (I was really NOT up to it), it was Aragorn.

"We're preparing to leave," he informed me. "Pack up your belongings." I sat up and stretched, trying to work out the awful crick in my neck. I was feeling quite refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to take on anything. Except Sindarin, that is, but I think that would be obvious.

"How much farther do we have to go?" I asked Gandalf, shouldering my pack.

"We've made excellent time. The other side is two days away, at my best guess. But if we keep a good pace, we may see daylight earlier than planned," he replied, busily packing some bags.

I smiled.

Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I had thought.

*

I did not count on Gandalf getting lost.

            We had come up a path to find three separate doorways. I waited impatiently for Gandalf to make a choice between the three. But instead he said something that brought fear and slight annoyance to my heart:

            "I have no memory of this place."

            So we spread out on the floor yet again, waiting while Gandalf searched his memory.

            And no, my Sindarin lessons were not postponed.

            "Eye."

            "_Hen_."

            "Good. Hair."

            "_Fin_."

            "Yes. Light."

            "_Galad_."

            "Correct. Moon."

            "Legolas, can we stop?"

            And it went on…

            After I had threatened to go totally insane—which Gimli had kindly pointed out would not take much—I was relieved of my lessons and used this time to relax.

            "Ah! It's this way," Gandalf exclaimed sometime later, rising from his seat. I silently cheered.

            "He's remembered!" exclaimed Merry, scrambling to his feet.

            "No, but the air smells less foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose," Gandalf replied, stepping into the tunnel. I refrained from making a sarcastic comment about the hygiene of the dwarves and followed. 

*

            We walked on for a little more. After a while, Gandalf seemed to recognize landmarks and his stride became more confident.

            "Let me risk a little more light," he said quietly after we had passed under a low doorway. The stone on his staff grew considerably brighter, lighting up the area around us.  I was awed. A vast room had been revealed, with incredibly high ceilings and immense columns. I looked around me, marveling at the skill that had been used to create such a masterpiece. "Behold!" exclaimed Gandalf. "The great realm of the Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf."

            "Well that's an eye-opener, no mistake," commented Sam. I remained speechless.

            "What do you think of that, eh?" Gimli asked clapping me on the shoulder. "Not so haughty now, are ye, Miss Elf?"

            "Oh…shove it Gimli," I muttered.

            We wandered through Dwarrowdelf for a while, apparently looking for an exit of some sort. Gimli suddenly made a grunt of surprise and darted toward a room off to the side, running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

            "Gimli!" exclaimed Gandalf. There was a cry of grief and we quickly followed him to the room. Gimli was bent over what appeared to be a tomb, mourning, amongst the many scattered skeletons. Gandalf approached the tomb.

            "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," he read, peering over the runes engraved on the top of the tomb. "He is dead then. It is as I feared." Gimli wailed and leaned his head against the stone. 

            Gandalf handed his hat and staff to Pippin and bent down to retrieve a very large and thick book, held in the hands of a skeleton.

            "We must move on. We cannot linger," Legolas whispered worriedly to Aragorn. I glanced at him, wondering why he was so anxious. At the time, I had assumed he was troubled because it was so creepy.  I mean it _was_ a room full of rotted skeletons. Who would _want_ to stay?

            Gandalf opened the book. A shower of dirt streamed out. He smoothed over the pages, gently blowing off the dust. 

            "'They have taken the bridge and the second hall," he read. "We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep.'" He turned the page.  "'We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out." He paused. "'They are coming.'" I felt a chill go up my spine.

            Suddenly there was a crash. I looked around for the source of the noise. Pippin was standing by a skeleton seated on a well. He had apparently knocked the head of the carcass into the well. Suddenly the rest of the corpse tipped backwards and fell in with a resounding crash. It had been attached to a chain, which was linked to a bucket, which fell noisily in with it. There were reverberating crashes and clangs throughout the mine as the skeleton made it's way to the bottom of the well. 

            And then there was silence.

            Pippin looked sheepish, and rather frightened. Gandalf angrily snatched his hat and staff from him.

            "Fool of a Took!" he exclaimed. "Next time throw yourself in and rid us of your stupidity!" Pippin looked at the ground in that cute way that hobbits do, making it ridiculously hard to not run over to him and reassure him that it was not his fault.

            _Boom_.

            It was muffled at first and I had thought perhaps that it was my imagination.

            _Boom_.

            It was louder this time, and it was evident that everyone heard it as well. I inhaled sharply.

            _Boom._ The volume and the rhythm increased dramatically. My heart pounded in in time with the drums. Frodo withdrew his sword. It had begun to glow a bright blue.

            "Orcs!" exclaimed Legolas. Fear had nearly paralyzed me. My hands shook as I unsheathed my sword. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced around to see Gandalf.

            "Trust yourself," he whispered. I gulped and nodded.

            Boromir ran toward the door and peered out. Two arrows whizzed by, barely missing his head. He slammed the door shut.

            "They have a cave troll," he muttered.

            "Stay close to Gandalf!" yelled Aragorn*. I slowly inched backward, hiding behind the old wizard, frightened beyond all belief. But Gandalf's words echoed in my head and I straightened my back, trying with all my heart to believe in my abilities and myself.

            Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir barred the doors with the weapons of the dead dwarves. Gimli jumped up on his cousin's tomb, growling like a lion on the hunt.

            "Let them come!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with the desire of battle and bloodshed. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!"

            I gripped my sword tightly, standing poised and ready for what was to come. Footfalls echoed throughout the corridors as our enemy drew closer, growing louder as they approached the door. The door shivered as they battered noisily against it. I knew it would not take much force to break, as the wood was rotted and well beyond any real defense. Small holes began to take shape and I could almost see them. The arrows of Aragorn and Legolas sped through the small holes, straight into the throats our rivals. There were several strangled squeals that chilled me to the very bone. 

            And then the door gave way.

            When I first laid eyes on the orcs, my first thought was that they must have been a hybrid of a lizard and cheese mold. In short, they were utterly repulsive. Aragorn and Legolas took care of the first row or so with some amazing archery. But they were outnumbered and the orcs soon flooded into the room. 

            One approached me, hissing and slashing the air with its weapon. I clumsily blocked its swings. I knew that others would come after me soon and that I had to defeat this one…but I didn't want to kill it. It was disgusting and everything, but the only living thing I'd ever killed before were pesky insects, and then it wasn't done out of spite. This bore a vague resemblance to a human. I couldn't just kill it.

            While I was debating my morals, the orc took a swing that I failed to block properly. I winced as its blade sliced my side. The orc made a noise similar to a laugh, which totally pissed me off. Completely abandoning the idea of allowing it to live, I took one big swing and lopped off its head. It was pretty gross, but it made me feel better.

            After that I was able to fight without feeling guilty. They were corrupt with evil and death did what justice they deserved.

A roar interrupted my thoughts as I fought. I brought my sword through another orc and looked up. A gigantic…thing carrying a large club had entered, an orc leading it by a chain. It reminded me of an overweight, underpaid concert security guard, but I decided it was the cave troll Boromir had spoken of earlier. 

            _I can't fight that thing,_ I thought to myself. _Just stay out of the way, Haley and concentrate on the orcs._

            I fought on, barely noticing what was going on around me. I'd occasionally move to get out of the way of the troll and often catch quick glimpses of my companions trying to defeat it.

            "Aragorn!" Frodo suddenly screeched. From what I could see, the troll had grabbed hold of his foot. There was nothing I could do, as I was busy trying to stay alive myself.

            A few minutes later there was a loud cry. I glanced over quickly to see Frodo pressed up against the wall, a spear in his side. 

            _Oh God…_I thought, tears forming in my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Frodo was one of the best people I knew and after all he did, it wasn't fair for him to be killed like that. A rage formed inside me and I mercilessly disposed of the remaining orcs. I spun around just in time to see Legolas' arrow make its mark in the troll's throat. It made a few guttural sounds and moaned painfully, swaying as death claimed it. It finally fell, shaking the room. Pippin was flung off his back, landing hard on the floor. Why he was up there in the first place was unclear to me.

            I saw Aragorn bending over Frodo's motionless form. I rushed over; trying to see what was going on, unshed tears lingering in my eyes.

            "Oh no," whispered Aragorn. He rolled him over slowly. I bit my tongue, trying to remain in control.

            But to my surprise and everyone else's, Frodo sat up and coughed a little.

            "He's alive!" exclaimed Sam. I sighed in utter relief.

            "I'm all right, I'm not hurt," said Frodo. Aragorn frowned in confusion.

            "You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar!" exclaimed Aragorn, almost accusingly. Gandalf's eyes twinkled.

            "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," he replied. Frodo opened his shirt a little to reveal what appeared to be a chain mail vest made of silver and gold.

            "Mithril!" exclaimed Gimli. I had no idea what it was, but I decided it was a very strong and evidently precious metal. "You are full of surprises Mr. Baggins!"

            Many footsteps in the corridor interrupted our meeting.

            "To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!" exclaimed Gandalf, taking off out another door. We ran after him.

            It was at this time that I became aware of the pain in my side. During battle I had ignored it, as there were things of more importance at hand. The wound ached as I ran, as though it was constantly trying to remind me of its existence. I couldn't very well ask to stop now, so I bit my lip and remained silent.

            Meanwhile, orcs were crawling out of their hiding places. They swarmed down the pillars in the ceiling and up from the floors. We ran on, but the orcs grossly outnumbered us and we were soon surrounded. They hissed and jeered at us from all directions in their own tongue.

_This is not happening, this is just a dream…_I said to myself over and over again. 

A deafening roar suddenly broke the jabber of the orcs. They froze in fear, and spoke amongst themselves. It sounded again. They all squealed in terror and quickly began to retreat, back into the darkness. Chills ran up and down my spine. 

This could not be good.

             An eerie light that seemed to come directly from the depths of Hell had begun to shine in back of us from behind a corner. Legolas had readied an arrow, aiming it at the strange glow.

            "What is this new devilry?" asked Boromir.

            "A Balrog," replied Gandalf, a hint of dread creeping into his normally stable tone. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

            We took off in another direction. My side throbbed painfully, but some unexplainable determination pushed me onward. We turned a corner and found our path swerved to the right, bridging a dark pit. Boromir had not stopped quickly enough and teetered dangerously on the edge. Legolas grabbed his shirt and pulled him backward.

            "Lead them on Aragorn!" instructed Gandalf. "The bridge is near." Aragorn looked apprehensive. "Do as I say!" Gandalf bellowed. "Swords are no more use here."

            We ran down a stone staircase with no railings the seemingly endless pit. After a while we came to a large gap in the stair. Legolas jumped easily across, and then motioned for me to do so as well. I took a deep breath and jumped, not knowing whether or not I would ever feel solid ground beneath my feet again. I landed hard and would have toppled down the rest of the stairs had Legolas not steadied me. I regained my balance, my heart beating wildly after such a frightening experience. Legolas motioned to Gandalf. The wizard hesitated. The roar of the Balrog was heard in the distance. That seemed to be his motivation, as he jumped, his robes billowing out behind him. He landed easily.

            Boromir tucked Merry and Pippin under each of his arms and took a mighty leap across. He landed as the edge crumbled. I righted the two hobbits, standing in back of them in case they fell.

And as if we didn't have enough problems already, the orcs began shooting at us.

Fortunately they weren't very good shots, but it really scared the heck out of me. Legolas easily disposed of most of them with superior archery. Meanwhile, Aragorn picked up Sam and threw him across the gap. He made a motion as if to pick up Gimli.

            "Nobody tosses a dwarf," Gimli said, holding up his hand. He jumped, but didn't quite make it to the other side, as he teetered on the edge. Legolas grabbed him by the beard to prevent him from falling. "NOT the beard!" he exclaimed, his eyes growing incredibly large. It was rather funny, now that I think about it, but back then I was too frightened to even smile.

            Portions of the stair on the opposite side began to crumble and fall. Frodo and Aragorn scrambled backward on the stair to avoid going down with the rubble. The gap between the two sections was too wide to jump and Aragorn stood evaluating the situation. There was another roar from the Balrog and sections of the stone ceiling began to break off. One landed with a crash on the stair Frodo and Aragorn were stranded on, separating it from the rest of the staircase. It began to tilt noticeably to the side. Aragorn, however, seemed to notice that he could influence the direction of the tilt by leaning forward, backward, etc.

            "Lean forward!" he called to Frodo. They both leaned forward, which caused the stair to tip toward us. It finally crashed into the top part of "our" staircase. The mometum threw Frodo and Aragorn forward, Legolas and Boromir having to catch them. Once their feet were set firmly on the ground again, we ran. As we darted away, a large part of the staircase cracked and fell into the abyss below. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief.

            We continued to run until we came to the bridge. It made me nervous just looking at it. It was slender, almost threatening to break over yet another dark and endless chasm. That and it had no railings or anything else to help pedestrians across. I silently cursed the dwarves and cautiously began to run across, trying not to look down.

            Remarkably, I reached the other side without tripping or having any other close brushes with death. I gathered with the rest of the Fellowship and looked back across the bridge. The Balrog, which like a large solid mass of fire and lava, crudely shaped into a winged demon, was approaching the bridge, which Gandalf was crossing. He turned around the face the Balrog.

            "You cannot pass!" he yelled to the demon. A wave of flame washed over it.

            "Gandalf!" cried Frodo. Gandalf's back straightened and power seemed to pulsate through his body.

            "I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! Dark fire shall not avail you, flame of Udun!" he exclaimed. The Balrog drew a flaming sword and swung it at Gandalf, who blocked it. "Go back to the shadow!" he commanded. "**_YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!!!_**" He slammed his staff against the ground, emitting a flash of white light, which drove the Balrog back. It drew a flaming whip and snapped it loudly, and stepped on to the bridge. The stone began to crumble beneath its feet. Having nothing to support it, it fell into the void below. Gandalf sighed a little, as though that burst of magic had exhausted him, and began to cross the remainder of the bridge. I exhaled sharply in relief.

            Suddenly the crack of the whip of the Balrog pierced the silence, and wrapped itself around Gandalf's ankle. He was knocked to the ground and pulled backward to the edge of the bridge. Just as he was about to fall, he caught hold of the very end of the bridge. He struggled for a moment and then stopped, looking us directly in the eye.

            "Fly, you fools!" he commanded quietly. With those words, he let go, following his adversary into the black depths. My breath caught in my throat and I choked on the tears that welled up in my eyes.

            "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" shouted Frodo, trying to break free of Boromir's grasp. Legolas gently took me by the wrist, pulling me out of Moria and into the sunlight, away from Gandalf, the father and grandfather I had never known.

A/N: Cliffie! Sorry, but you got seven pages! I know it's kind of sad, but things will improve. Also…a reviewer (Aria) has informed me I messed up a line on Caradhras ("There is a fell voice on the air!")…heh, my humble apologies. I'm too lazy to fix it right now but I expect I will. My copy of the script is really messed up…and foul made more sense to me…I don't understand that. Anyhow, sorry people! And thanks Aria! You get…chocolate!

Happy Birthday to Shadowgirl!

*= when Aragorn says this in the movie, it sounds like he's saying "Make love to Gandalf!" Thanks to Reikon who pointed this out…it's realllly funny, go watch it *giggles insanely to herself. *


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: The day I own anything will be the day that cartoons come to life, pop out of the TV, and take over Germany. Why Germany? I don't know. But that's my chances of owning something…*thinks of Spongebob governing Germany * Hmm…*shudder*

A/N: Oooh I get to rant again…heh. Ahem. Anyhow, this is directed more at one certain reviewer *cough * who will remain unnamed—for now. Constructive criticism means telling the author what they could change about their story to make it better. Don't worry about insulting me or whatever…I can take it, believe me. Constructive criticism is not, however, leaving me a link to a "What is a Mary Sue" type of site with nothing else. What really annoyed me was that the reviewer neglected to leave any comments on what they thought was wrong or any way to contact them to ask. I can take flames or "harsh" criticism—I think it really helps me develop as a writer. Anyhow, I'm not upset that someone finds this story "Mary Sue-ish" I'm just annoyed that they didn't leave any constructive criticism. Sigh…end rant. Okay, I feel better now. But ANYONE who reads this story should not be afraid to leave negative feedback…I'm not going to hunt you down or anything. Okay, on with my life…

Chapter Fourteen

            The light nearly blinded me as I stumbled out of Moria. At first I was too shocked to even cry, grief nearly choking me. I sat down on the ground, trying to absorb all that had happened. The rest of the Fellowship stumbled out into the light, taking similar positions on the ground. The hobbits were all openly crying, tears streaming down their faces; small sobs escaping their lips. Gimli looked almost homicidal and Boromir had to restrain him from running back inside the mines. Legolas looked stunned, almost dazed, but he still remained in total control of himself as always. Aragorn looked almost unmoved as he wiped off his sword with a cloth, but behind his set expression, I could see he was really suffering. I let a tear roll down my cheek, mingling with the dirt that had accumulated on my face. The grief that had plagued me over three months ago had resurfaced, more powerful and traumatic than ever. I took long, slow, deep breaths, trying to remain in control of myself. In the end grief won, reducing me to tears and muffled sobs, which I tried to hide with a handkerchief.

            "Legolas," Aragorn said finally. "Get them up!" Legolas looked at him impassively.

            "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" begged Boromir, sounding upset and weary.

            "By nightfall these hills will be crawling with orcs!" exclaimed Aragorn "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Gimli, Legolas, get them up!" I somewhat attempted to swallow the rest of my tears and stood up, wincing at the pain in my side, which had not subsided. "On your feet, Sam," Aragorn commanded gently, setting him on his feet. "Frodo?"

            The hobbit had drawn away from the rest of the group, gazing across the horizon. He slowly turned to face us. My heart almost broke in two. Tears flooded his eyes, falling in gentle streams down his cheeks. The sorrow that dwelt in him was incredibly intense, and it was obvious that the death of Gandalf had the most devastating effect on him.

            After he managed to get us all on our feet, Aragorn instructed us to follow him. His pace was fast, and it became difficult for me to keep up. My wound ached painfully, but I tried my best to ignore it, hoping that our destination was not far away.

            And as usual, I was wrong.

            I managed to run along without too much pain at first, but it became increasingly difficult to keep pace as time passed. 

            I was navigating my way through some large rocks when I noticed Pippin giving me an odd look. I returned his stare, confused as to why I was now so interesting. He glanced away, seeming to pretend that he was looking at something else. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

            After awhile I realized what had provoked the strange looks from Pippin.

            The blood from my cut had soaked through my shirt. On the day I was wearing a white one, no less—at least it had _been_ white…

            I bit my lip in concentration, wondering what I should do. I didn't have to do much.

            "Legolas," called Aragorn, slowing down to fall in step beside the elf. He glanced at me briefly and looked away. He frowned in confusion and looked back at me, his eyes drawn to the rusty stain on my shirt. "Haley," he called, motioning for me to stop. I stood in my place, wondering what he had to say to me now. The rest of the group stopped and stared at me. "Why did you not mention you were wounded?" he asked quietly, his eyes piercing into mine. I sighed.

            "Well, let's see…I was going to, but at the time we were running to get away from the orcs so I figured it would not have been best to mention it. So I decided to tell you later. But then we were sort of crossing a broken staircase type thing, which just happened to bridge a never-ending pit of darkness. And when we finally get out of Moria, I was busy crying and then you're all like 'We have to get the hell out of here!' It just didn't seem very appropriate for me to say 'Hey, I'm bleeding!' when we're kind of trying to stay alive," I replied, sarcasm dripping from my words. It's amazing how exhaustion, grief, and fatigue can never erase one's little quirks. Aragorn looked at me, seeming somewhat annoyed.

            "Orc blades are poisoned," he informed me. My mouth formed a little 'o'.

            "Well, maybe if you had mentioned that _before_ we went into the mines, maybe I would have been a little more concerned…"

            "Let me see it," he commanded. I sighed and raised the corner of my shirt. I looked down in surprise. The gash was about three and a half inches long, less than a quarter inch deep, and bleeding freely. But that wasn't what was unusual about it. The edges of the abrasion had adapted a purplish black coloring. The area around the wound had turned slightly bluish, almost as if I had hypothermia.

            "Oh…" I replied, suddenly becoming extremely worried. 

            "It's not as bad as it looks," commented Aragorn, reassuringly, poking at the wound. I winced. "There wasn't enough poison to do a large amount of damage…yet. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged. I have some herbs that will help slow the poison."

            At this point I made another rather important discovery: never ever make an appointment with "Dr. Aragorn" if you have a low threshold of pain.

            At first I thought it wouldn't be too bad. Aragorn used some soap and water to gently clean out the wound. It stung a little, but I figured that was the worst of it.

            And as usual, I was wrong.

            Apparently some dirt or something had gotten into the cut and could not be removed by means of soap and water. So, being the resourceful person he is, Aragorn took a needle and proceeded to pick out the offending pieces. And me, being the person I am, immediately began to ponder how he managed to have needles on hand. I later found out that he brought them on the off chance that someone may need to be stitched up.

            All I really have to say was that it hurt.

            He wasn't particularly gentle about it either, ignoring my yelps of pain.

            "This is nothing compared to the agony you would be experiencing if this wound is not properly cleaned and dressed," he said to me, the needle flashing in the sun. I gritted my teeth. 

            "You won't want to be in the same hemisphere when I give birth, buddy," I muttered. He chuckled knowingly.

            Aragorn finally decided he could stop with the needle and washed out the cut yet again with soap and water. It stung more this time, as the wound was sore and very sensitive. After he washed it, he proceeded to place some herbs inside the cut. It didn't hurt, thank God, it just felt like he was trying to grow a garden or something. I half expected him to put a tiny little garden gnome in there too. But instead, he simply tore up some cloth and created a rather crude bandage that wrapped around my waist.

            "Thank you," I said, standing up, cringing slightly. He nodded.

            "You're welcome. Will you be able to travel on foot?" he asked, slinging his pack over his shoulders. I shrugged.

            "Yeah, I'll be okay. It's not like my arm fell off or anything." He nodded slightly.

            And so we continued on.

            It was quite a long way to Lothlorien and I was tired and torn with grief. But I decided that doing an extensive amount of running was more preferable to being orc-food or something equally unpleasant.

            We were running when Aragorn suddenly bounded ahead, splashing into a gurgling stream. He peered at the horizon excitedly.

            "The Woods of Lorien!" he exclaimed, gesturing to a forest a long way off. I gave a small half-smile. Our goal was in sight.

            We reached the borders of Lothlorien sometime in late afternoon or early evening. The woods were beautiful and I fell in love with them immediately. The trees were enormous, stretching high into the heavens, sheltering us with a green canopy. Each tree was remarkably beautiful, showing no signs of disease or any other physical deformities. I felt relieved, as though a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders the moment I stepped into the woods.

            "Stay close, young hobbits! They say a great sorceress lives here, an elf-witch of terrible power," Gimli warned the hobbits in an undertone. I sighed and turned to him. He just had to ruin the moment.

            "And I'm Santa Claus," I muttered tiredly. "Just stop making up this junk and scaring the poor hobbits." Gimli glared at me.

            "It is no mere fireside tale, you ignorant elf! All those who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again!" he retorted angrily. I rolled my eyes.

            "Yeah. They changed their address to cut all ties with a certain dwarf who's name begins with a 'g' and ends with an 'i', with an 'i', 'm', and an 'l' in between," I replied. Gimli glared yet again.

            "We'll see if you'll be laughing when she's caught you up in her web of trickery and deception!" he exclaimed. "We'll see then. But this is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" He strode forward and almost walked into an elf with an arrow readied in his bow. It would have been hilarious had the situation not been so dire. More elves suddenly appeared, seeming to materialize out of the scenery around us. We were soon surrounded.

            _Whoa…déjà vu…_I thought to myself, staring at my captors bewilderedly. Legolas had somehow managed to draw his bow and arrow, aiming it as his own captors. _I really need to learn how to do that…_

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," said a male elf haughtily, striding out to meet us. Gimli growled. The speaker was tall and blonde with a serious and set expression. He showed very little, if any emotion. He reminded me somewhat of Amdir, what with the large ego and all, but I liked him more. He seemed less pretentious and he could effectively make fun of Gimli.

"_Haldir o Lorien,_" greeted Aragorn. I was able to translate that to 'Haldir of Lorien.' I was very proud of myself. _"__Henion aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn."_ Okay, so maybe that was all I understood, but it was _something_…

"Aragorn! These woods are perilous! We should go back!" exclaimed Gimli, looking rather unnerved. 

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back," replied the elf called Haldir. "Come, she is waiting."

A/N: Sorry this took so long! School is such a pain…sorry! Anyhow, I have my own computer now *cheers * so things may be better. Thanks to all who waited so patiently (and those who waited not-so-patiently)!

             __


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: Kiddy Korner: Can you help Fred solve this problem? If Peter Jackson and all his little friends at AOL Time Warner own the movie _Lord of the Rings_ and all that other related stuff, and if JRR Tolkien and all his people own the book series, what does Blue Kat own?

Answer: Did you say 'Nothing'? Well gosh gee golly whiz, you were right! Blue Kat doesn't own anything, and never will unless she makes a couple of billion dollars right now…

A/N: Okay, a lot of people have been asking me… "When's the romance coming in?" Well…this chapter will start some stuff…but the romance will be rather gradual at first. It's gonna happen though…I promise…lots of it. I just don't want to rush things…I don't want to run out of romance ideas before _Return of the King_. Ya know? Cause if I started it really soon, then I'd eventually run out of ideas before the end. This chapter will reveal more, I promise. That is, if I write as much as I plan to…I'm rambling, so I'm going to shut up now…

Chapter Fifteen

            Lothlorien was as beautiful as Moria was terrifying.

            The trees were incredible, becoming as wide and as tall as the famous California redwoods as we journeyed deep into the heart of the woods. They fascinated me. They were about as ordinary as any other trees, but they possessed a certain inner beauty that simply awed me. The forest floor was lush and green with plants and other forest growth of equal magnificence. I soon decided that everything that grew in Lothlorien was perfect, as though it had been fed with some elven Miracle-Gro. The few waterfalls, fountains, and streams we came across were beautiful and clear, their melodious trickle ringing merrily throughout the forest.

            Just when I thought I couldn't be any more amazed, I saw the houses.

            Beautifully sculpted and carved dwellings had been constructed in the trees, nearly making me trip over my own feet in awe. Like Rivendell, they possessed a certain architectural splendor that made them utterly breathtaking, making it outright impossible to describe the magnificence that had been so perfectly captured in one place.

            Aragorn gave me a nudge, jolting me out of my dream-like awe. Haldir had begun to lead us up a flight of stairs that twined around the immense trunk of a particularly large tree. Softly glowing lights lighted the way, produced by some unidentifiable source. The glow reminded me slightly of Christmas lights.

            _If the elves were smart enough to make glowing light things, then why can't the dwarves use railings?_ I asked myself as I ascended the stairs.

            We walked for a while, climbing long stretches of low stairs by the blue glow of the lights. It grew darker as we climbed; the patches of sky that peeked through the leaves dark with twilight. I looked out through the arches in the stair, openly gaping at the view. It was incredible. I could see other dwellings, all of equal majesty, and the upper parts of the trees that I had not been able to see when I was on the ground. I made the mistake of looking over the edge once—you'd think by then I would have learned—and got rather dizzy as I realized we were up really high. I didn't do that again.

            We eventually came to what appeared to be a house completely constructed out of intricate trellises. The entrance was simply a stone staircase—Lothlorien elves apparently did not believe in doors. I climbed the staircase with the rest of the Fellowship, my heart beating with anticipation.

            The staircase led us to an open area, beautiful and polished with the work of the elves. Another set of stairs led up to an unidentifiable room, the blue shadows shrouding it from view. I waited impatiently, playing with the hem of my shirt.

            A soft white light began to shine in front of me as two figures stepped forward. As they descended the staircase, the light slowly diminished to an even softer glow, allowing me to clearly see the figures. The one on my left was a male elf with a regal presence. His hair was white-blonde, hanging several inches past his shoulders, part of it pulled back. He was impeccably dressed in a white tunic and a grey robe of intricate fabric. He was good-looking, but his expression was somber, as though something was weighing him down tremendously. 

            His companion was female, and also an elf. She had a queenly stature and I immediately identified her as the mysterious Lady of the Wood. She was extremely beautiful, with a fair complexion and slightly wavy blonde hair that hung nearly to her waist. She was clothed in all white, her gown made out of lace that looked almost too fragile to wear. She wore a simple woven circlet on her head and no other jewelry. I looked into her eyes. They were ice blue, and filled with a gentle kindness. But as I looked closer, I felt as though there was something more powerful and frightening concealed behind those eyes. Goodness as well as a terrible power was present in her, making me rather frightened. She was gorgeous, but there was something strangely sinister about her beauty.

            "Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell," began the man, his tone steady and sure. "Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

            "He has fallen into shadow…" the Lady of the Wood replied, her eyes looking somewhat sorrowed. "The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," she continued, with a sense of gentle warning in her once troubled tone. "Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all…" She looked at us pensively for a moment. "Yet hope remains as long as the company is true…" Another pause. "Do not let your hearts be troubled…" A hint of motherliness crept into her voice. "Go now, and rest, for you are weary with toil and much sorrow. Tonight you shall sleep in peace."

            She stopped, and then looked at each member of the Fellowship individually. Strangely, the person she looked at could never return her gaze for long. At last she came to me.

            _"Ah yes, Haley Logan…"_ a soft voice whispered. I looked around, wondering if anyone had heard it. Apparently no one had. I turned my gaze back to the Lady of the Wood. _"You have journeyed from a land far away, bringing mystification to those you meet…"_ I shrugged. _"But behind the sarcasm and witty remarks, there are feelings that you deny the existence of…"_ I raised my eyebrows in question. _"You know of what I speak…"_ Her eyes seemed to bore into mine and I found myself looking at the ground.

            _"No…I don't…unless it's my secret love of the theme from 'Titanic'…and you really shouldn't pop into people's minds like that. It's kind of weird…"_ I thought, or rather "said" to her.

            _"Do not use wit to shield you, Haley…"_ she replied.

            _"I'm not…hello?"_ I looked up. The Lady's gaze had moved on, leaving me to talk to myself.

*

            After our meeting (I later learned that the man was called Celeborn and the Lady of the Wood was Galadriel) I was separated from the rest of the group and ushered off to the equivalent of an elven hospital. I remember little of the time I spent there, and the bits and pieces I can recall are hazy and dim. The next coherent thought I had was in my room. I had just woken from a light sleep that I did not remember succumbing to. I was in my own private room, which was constructed out of the same trellis-like material as the dwelling of Celeborn and Galadriel. Gauzy curtains covered the walls so that the room remained private, while still allowing light to shine through. I was resting in a comfortable bed, the comforter drawn up to my chin. A late morning breeze wafted through the curtains and wind chimes tinkled in the distance.

            "Where the hell am I?" I asked no one in particular. I waited for an answer. Finding none, I pulled off the comforter and swung my legs over the side of the bed. A dull ache in my side reminded me of my wound. I lifted up the corner of my nightgown to examine it. The sides of the cut had seemingly been drawn together and all that remained was a long pink line, with no sign of the black coloring. I gingerly poked at it. It was sore, almost as if I had some stitches removed, but I figured I'd live. I slipped off the bed, intent on taking a good, long bath.

*

            It was late at night and I had wandered into a garden, it's many fountains spewing sparkling crystal into the air. I traced my fingers along the damp stone, basking in the serenity. I was clean and bathed, my hair having experienced the luxury of a good shampoo, the dirt beneath my nails completely gone. My clothes were clean—new even. I had not worn a dress in over a month, nor had I had such clean clothing. There was nothing more that I could ask for.

            Strong arms wrapped around my waist and I spun around. A familiar figure, his face hidden by the shadows was revealed. I opened my mouth to scream.

            "Don't speak," he whispered, his voice strikingly familiar, yet strangely unidentifiable. I closed my mouth, swallowing my words for no reason other than that he asked me to.

            His face slowly moved closer to mine and my heart thudded with anticipation, for an unexplainable reason. His lips were only a breath away from mine, and the shadow seemed to gradually withdraw from his face. I felt the soft touch of his lips against mine and the shadow was nearly gone…

            I sat up in bed, sweating and breathing heavily. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized I was in my own room. It had been a dream, the first dream I had since arriving in Middle-earth. I heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back heavily into the pillows, closing my eyes. I tried desperately to place the voice of the man, but I came up with nothing.

            _It was just a dream anyway…_ I thought to myself. _It's not like a prophecy or something like that._

"Lies…" a voice whispered on the breeze. I shook my head, thinking I had imagined it when it sounded again. "Lies…" I frowned in uncertainty, pondering these strange occurrences until the very fist breath of dawn began to light the sky.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: _When the heat of Hell desists,_

_                   And white snow covers its plain,_

_                   Blue Kat will own something,_

_                  So Peter Jackson, if you sue me,_

_                  You are insane._

            (Sing to the tune of _In Dreams_ from FOTR. Which I ironically don't own the rights to either.)

Chapter Sixteen

            I had no further dreams regarding the shadowed stranger, nor did I hear Galadriel's voice whispering on the wind at night. Life had more or less settled back down and I spent a very quiet and relaxing week in Lothlorien.

            But the greatest part of it was that I only had two Sindarin lessons. There is nothing more convincing than an injury…

            Of course, all good things must come to an end and Aragorn happened to be the bearer of that news.

            "We plan to be setting off again soon," he informed me, poking his head into my room one evening. I looked up from my book.

            "Please tell me you're joking," I replied, reluctant to leave such relaxing tranquility that I had been privileged to experience in Lothlorien. Aragorn shook his head.

            "No, I'm afraid not. Be prepared to begin traveling again sometime in the next two days," he said, ducking his head out of the doorway. I sighed irritably.

            "Total brownie points deducted: fifty, leaving Aragorn with a grand total of five," I muttered, sinking back into the chair.

*

            There was a muffled knock at the door the next evening.

            "Come in," I called from my desk. I was doing some homework Legolas had assigned me and I was desperate for a good excuse to put it off temporarily. A handmaiden, fair-haired and wearing a simple white gown entered. I regarded her with an inquisitive stare, wondering if they had cloned this particular elf many times, as there seemed to be six hundred completely identical other ones running around the wood.

            "The Lady and Lord have requested your presence, my lady," she said softly. I nodded and silently cheered.

            "Okay…" I paused. "Where do I go?"

            "Follow me, m'lady," she replied, exiting the room. I clambered after her, abandoning my pen and paper on the desk, walking quickly to catch up with her long, yet strangely elegant strides.

            She led me to the same room I had gathered with the Fellowship our first day in Lothlorien. The other members of the Fellowship had evidently been summoned for a similar purpose, as they had all congregated near the foot of the stair Galadriel and Celeborn had descended the last time we were here. I took my place beside Aragorn and waited patiently for further instruction.

            Celeborn and Galadriel suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. They were wearing similar clothing and had it not been for the absence of the glowing light behind the couple and their slightly less regal and aloof manner, I would have sworn I had traveled back in time. They descended gracefully and stood in front of us, regarding us with the cool impassive stare that was common amongst the elves.

            "Now is the time," Celeborn finally began, "when those who wish to continue the quest must harden their hearts and leave this land. Those who no longer wish to go forward may remain here, for awhile." He looked at us, his grey eyes filled with a slight warning. "But whether they stay or go, none can be sure of peace. For we come now to the edge of doom…" He trailed off.

            "They all resolved to go forward," said Galadriel quietly after a moment of silence.

            "As for me," piped in Boromir, "my home lies onward and not back…" I nodded.

            "Yeah. Somehow I don't think Elrond would be too pleased if I randomly popped up on his doorstep, especially after all that fuss I made about having to go," I added. Celeborn gave me a rather strange look. He was the only one who was not used to my strange speech and little outbursts.

            "That is true," he replied after a moment of awkward silence. "But is all this Company going with you to Minas Tirith?"

            "We have not decided out course," replied Aragorn. My eyes widened.

            "WHAT?" I exclaimed. Celeborn looked at me in surprise and Aragorn got that familiar look of annoyance. Gimli looked smug, probably thinking of all the ways this could get me kicked out of the Fellowship and/or ruin my credibility. "What do you mean?" I continued, ignoring the looks I was getting. "Is this your subtle way of saying 'hello, I don't know where the hell I'm going, but nevertheless I will lead on a group of people to God-knows-where, even though the general good of Middle-earth is at stake'!" Aragorn placed a hand on my shoulder, either to reassure me or shut me up. I'm guessing the latter.

            "Beyond Lothlorien, I do not know what Gandalf intended to do. Indeed, I do not think he had any clear purpose," he replied calmly. I opened my mouth to protest, but Celeborn held up a hand to silence me. I shut my mouth and looked at the floor.

            "Maybe not," he replied, "yet when you leave this land, you can no longer forget the Great River…it cannot be crossed by travelers between Lorien and Gondor, save by boat…" It was incredibly tempting at that point to go bang my head against the nearest solid wall I could find. But Aragorn was looking a little more than stressed, so I decided that it would probably be best to just roll my eyes and look annoyed.

            A long conversation ensued about the details of our travel that had obviously not been thoroughly considered before then. So I sort of spaced off, constantly fighting the urge to scream.

            "…Then I will furnish your Company with boats…" Celeborn's words jolted me back into reality. A huge smile broke out on my face.

            "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!" I exclaimed, nearly kneeling down on the floor in gratitude. Celeborn looked at me quizzically, obviously perturbed at my strange displays of gratitude, but he seemed to wave it away.

            "You are most welcome, my lady," he answered almost too politely.

 Aragorn proceeded to thank Celeborn for his wonderful endowment, less frantically and more formally than myself, I might add. Celeborn managed a benign smile.

            "All shall be prepared for you and await you in the haven," he said. "I will send my people to you in the morning to help you make ready for the journey. Now we will wish you a fair night and untroubled sleep."

            "Good night, my friends!" bade Galadriel, smiling slightly. "Sleep in peace! Do not trouble your hearts overmuch with the thought of the road tonight…goodnight!"

*

            I was roused the next morning from a very peaceful slumber by one of the cloned handmaidens. I grumbled about the earliness of the hour and tumbled out of bed. The bath was already drawn, the water warm and inviting. I stepped into the heated water, wondering when I would next have the luxury of a real bath. I climbed out twenty minutes later, toweling my hair dry, wearing a soft bathrobe. The handmaiden sat me down at the vanity and proceeded to brush my tangled tresses. She fashioned my hair into a single braid that hung down my back. She then twisted it into a bun at the nape of my neck, securing it in place with a comb. At my insistence, she left me to dress myself. Once I was certain she was out of earshot, I raided the bathroom for soap.

            About an hour later I was packed up and ready to go, with about twenty bars of new soap hidden in my pack—plus the three I had left over from my last raid. Another cloned handmaiden—or maybe it was the same one—entered the room and guided me to the haven. Three boats sat on the riverbank, seeming to strain at the ropes that bound them to solid ground.

            Unlike the boats, I was not as eager to leave Lothlorien. For the first time in a month or so I was rested and relaxed, an immense weight lifted from my shoulders, one I had not realized I had carried with me. A great peace was present in Lothlorien and I did not want to leave that. I wasn't ready to face the turmoil of the real world again.

I suppose that having access to soap, water, and a bath also made me reluctant to leave, but that wasn't the entirety of it.

I stared at the dark waters of the Anduin as they slipped noiselessly forward; ready to carry me toward evil itself, away from the serenity that was Lothlorien.

A/N: The dialogue with Celeborn and the Fellowship was taken from the book. However, I changed the "said" stuff and left out some stuff. And wrote Haley's lines and stuff too (duh).  


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: Let's see…if I were really JRR Tolkien I'd be dead and therefore unable to type. I love my logic…

Author's Note: I'm trying to get some character sketches done to put on a homepage (once I figure out how to work the stupid thing). So I'll keep you posted.

For those who lost a loved one in the traumatic events of September 11, 2001, please know that you are in my prayers. Buildings may fall, but hope and freedom will prevail in the end. May we all find peace.

Chapter Seventeen

            The rest of the Fellowship eventually arrived at the haven and Lothlorien elves presented us with some fresh food and new clothing. The food was rather peculiar. Most of our nourishment came in the form of very thin, wafer-like cakes. Gimli eyed them suspiciously.

            "_Cram,_" he muttered under his breath. I shuddered. _Cram_, code word for crap. It was Styrofoam-like cake that bore a vague resemblance to something edible, and it had been forced down my throat on more than one occasion. I had often commented that it tasted like something that had been scraped off the soles of my shoes, but Aragorn just told me to be quiet and eat. Gimli unwrapped the cake from it's packaging and cautiously nibbled on the corner. His beady little eyes suddenly widened and he literally inhaled the rest of the cake making primitive grunts as he chewed. I gave him a strange look and grimaced slightly. There is nothing more disgusting than a dwarf who finds it necessary to shove food in his face as fast as possible.

"No more, no more!" exclaimed some of the elves, laughing. "You have eaten enough already for a long day's march."            

"I thought it was only a kind of _cram_, such as the Dalemen make for journeys in the wild," Gimli said, crumbs caught in the tangles of his beard. I held back a fit of laughter and a whole bunch of sarcastic comments.

            "So it is," replied one of the elves. "But we call it _lembas_ or waybread, and it is more strengthening than any food made by Men, and it is more pleasant than _cram_ by all accounts."

            "Why it is better than the honey-cakes of the Beornings, and that is great praise, for the Beornings are the best bakers I know of…" Gimli began, his eyes nearly glowing.

            "And Gimli _knows_ quality," I added before I realized what I was saying. Fortunately, Gimli did not pick up on the sarcasm and nodded in agreement.

            "Aye. You are kindly hosts!" he exclaimed, licking the crumbs from his fingers.

            "All the same, we bid you to spare the food," replied the elf. "Eat a little at a time and only at need. The cakes will keep sweet for many, many days if they are unbroken and left in their leaf wrappings, as we have brought them. One will keep a traveler on his feet for a day of long labor, even if he be one of the tall men of Minas Tirith." I looked at the speaker gratefully.

            "You are my new best friend," I declared seriously. He chuckled and waved it away as a joke, but the poor soul didn't know me…

            The elves then opened nine parcels. Nine silky cloaks were removed from their wrappings and presented to each member of the Fellowship. I examined mine in awe. The fabric was soft and light, but it also appeared to be durable and good protection against the elements. The color was ever changing, going from a deep green to a soft brown in the late morning sun. A small leaf-shaped brooch fastened it at the neck.

            "Are these magic cloaks?" Pippin asked, his eyes filled with awe as he let the silky material slide over his hands.

            "I do not know what you mean," replied the elf, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "They are fair garments and the web is good, for it was made in this land. They are elvish robes certainly, if that is what you mean. Leaf and branch, water and stone; they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lorien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make.  Yet they are garments, not armor and they will not turn shaft or blade. But they will serve you well; they are light to wear and warm enough or cool enough at need. And you will find them a great aid in keeping out of the sight of unfriendly eyes, whether you walk among the stones or trees. You are indeed in high favor of the Lady! For she herself and her maidens wove this stuff; and never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people." I smiled happily, wrapping the cloak around my shoulders. I was thrilled at the prospect of having such a fine piece of clothing in my possession—my own cloak was becoming worn and threadbare, making me feel like I was wearing Swiss cheese rather than a cloak. I began to plan how I would convert the old one into a pillow, as I was not looking forward to waking up with cricks in my neck. I also had nothing to wallop Legolas with when he woke me up for lessons. I sighed happily, temporarily satisfied with the state of affairs.

*

            Eventually it became time for us to depart and we packed up the boats with heavy hearts. There were three boats. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin were to ride in the first, with Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam in the next. I was to travel in the same boat as Legolas and Gimli, along with most of our supplies. I wasn't really looking forward to it much—granted it _was_ funny when Gimli turned purple with rage, but sitting with him in a tiny space for hours on end is a bit overwhelming. And a very, very, long Sindarin oral quiz loomed threateningly in my near future.

            Although I was bent on staying, it eventually became time to leave the fair wood. I settled onto the wooden bench in the boat, stashing my pack beneath with the food and water. I reluctantly picked up the white oar, running my fingers over the silvery carvings. Gimli sat in the front end of the boat, grumbling to himself about the seating arrangements. I smiled in spite of myself.

            Legolas stood with one foot resting in the boat, the other on the muddy bank. He leaned forward, pushing the boat away from the shore with one foot. He easily transferred himself into the boat and sat down on the remaining seat, retrieving an oar from the wooden floor. What amazed me was that he managed to not tip the entire thing over. I thought of how Gimli would react if he fell in the river.

"ARGH!!! Cleanliness! Gasp…my beard! Do you realize how long it will take to fix this??? The grease will take three days alone to return!" I could almost hear him shout. Or even better: "I'm mellllllting…" I started laughing uncontrollably. Legolas looked at me oddly and Gimli growled, almost as if he knew I was laughing at his expense.

I finally calmed down after Gimli began to threaten to toss me overboard. Still chuckling, I dipped my oar into the water, creating miniature whirlpools as I paddled slowly forward, beginning my watery path toward evil.

            And having Gimli in the boat did not make me feel more optimistic.

            We easily traveled over the water, the boat gliding across the surface as smoothly and quickly as a warm knife through butter. Though the occasion was sad, rowing calmed me as though it was some strange form of meditation. 

We came to a bend in the river. We slowly followed the curve, our smooth course constant, and our pace steady. As we turned with the river, what appeared to be a magnificent white swan came into view, gliding gently across the dark water. I frowned.

            "Dammit, I hate those stupid birds," I muttered, recalling an unpleasant occurrence on one particular fifth grade field trip. Legolas paused in his movements and peered at the bird.

            "That is no swan," he replied quietly. I looked at it closely.

            "My mistake, that's not a swan, that is clearly an oversized rabbit," I replied sarcastically. Legolas gave me a look.

            "It is no living creature at all—it is the ship of the Lady Galadriel," he said, solemnly dipping his oar into the water. I looked closer. Although the idea was completely insane, it seemed quite believable as I watched it approach. I began to pick out the black oars that propelled it through the water and the oarsmen who worked them. Two unidentifiable figures stood motionlessly at the bow, clothed in white. As they drew closer, a soft music began to play and I realized that it was indeed the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.

            "Next thing you know there'll be flying pigs and clean dwarves," I muttered, awed by the approaching vessel.  

            The ship eventually drew alongside us. Galadriel smiled slightly and greeted us.

            "We have come to bid you our last farewell and to speed you with blessings from our land," she explained, her voice soft and comforting.

            "Though you have been our guests," continued Celeborn, "you have not yet eaten with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lorien." My eyes widened.

            _Food…I'm starved…_

*

            We ate our meal in a small clearing on the grassy bank of the river. The food was delicious and I consequently focused nearly all my attention on eating, and therefore unable to pay attention to the conversation throughout the meal.

            Eventually the serving bowls grew empty, the plates littered with crumbs. I downed the rest of my water, and sat back with a sigh, feeling bloated, but strangely contented. Galadriel suddenly rose and filled a silver goblet with white mead with the help of one of her cloned handmaidens.

            "Now it is time to drink the cup of farewell," she announced, handing the goblet to Celeborn. "Drink to the Lord of the Galadrim! And let not your heart be sad, though night must follow noon, and already our evening draweth nigh."

             She brought the cup around to every member of the Fellowship, and bade us to drink. I took a small sip, incredibly thankful that Gimli would drink last, and therefore not contaminate the rest of the Fellowship with whatever germs lived in that beard of his. However, it appeared that Sam had not been too diligent when cleaning his teeth this morning…

            "We have drunk the cup of parting," said Galadriel quietly once the cup was empty, "and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of Galadrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien." I perked up at the word 'gifts.' Presents were fun and I could always use more stuff, especially since all of it had been left in another world…

            "Here is the gift of Celeborn and Galadriel to the leader of your Company," she said, addressing Aragorn. She presented him with a sheath. It was a work of art, silver and gold flowers and leaves twisting up and down its length, small gems spelling out elven runes with a precise and stunning detail. "The blade that is drawn from this sheath shall not be stained or broken, even in defeat," continued Galadriel in her soft tone. "But is there aught else that you desire of me at our parting? For darkness will flow between us, and it may be that we shall not meet again, unless it be far hence upon a road that has no returning."

            "Lady, you know all my desire, and long held in keeping the only treasure I seek. Yet it is not yours to give me, even if you would; and only through darkness shall I come to it," replied Aragorn, bowing his head humbly. I bit my lip in confusion.

            "Yet maybe this will lighten your heart," replied Galadriel kindly, "for it was left in my care to be given to you, should you pass through this land." She lifted a green stone from her lap, set in a silver brooch, which had been made in the likeliness of an eagle with outspread wings. It sparkled brilliantly in the sun. "This stone I gave to my daughter…and she to hers; and now it comes to you as a token of hope. In this hour take the name that was foretold for you, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil!"

            _The what?_ I asked myself as Aragorn pinned the brooch to his cloak. Receiving and expecting no answer, I added that of my list of questions. 

            Aragorn thanked Galadriel, using overly fancy words that confused me to an even greater extent. With less ceremony, Galadriel then presented a belt of gold to Boromir and smaller silver belts to Merry and Pippin.

            _Is this her way of saying that the world doesn't need to know the color of their underwear?_ I thought to myself as the three admired their gifts. She gave Legolas a bow and a set of arrows nestled in a quiver. They too bore beautiful carvings of the elves and Legolas admired it as though it was the greatest thing since…I don't know, but he nearly worshipped that thing.

            Sam was given a box of dirt. It sounds like a cruddy gift, maybe even insulting, but it was apparently the closest thing to Elven Miracle-Gro, as it was dirt from the garden of Galadriel, which, when sprinkled in a garden, would make everything bloom like crazy. And Sam didn't just have a green thumb, he had a green hand, arm, foot, and leg. He was one of those people who could keep one of those gardening stores in business. He flushed and hugged the box to his chest tightly. It would have made _such_ a cute picture…

            "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?" asked Galadriel, turning to Gimli.

            "How 'bout some deodorant?" I volunteered. My hand flew to cover my mouth as I fully realized what I had said. Aragorn looked at me sharply, Boromir glared, and Legolas looked at me impassively, with a trace of amusement. Pippin giggled.

            But fortunately a major ear wax build up or something else had plugged up Gimli's ears and he did not hear my comment, nor did he withdraw his axe, which, I noted, he had sharpened last night. I sighed gratefully.

            "None Lady," replied Gimli. "It is enough for me to have seen the Lady of the Galadrim and heard her gentle words."

            _Gimli can certainly talk smooth when he wants to,_ I thought. I was then assaulted with a large amount of bad images.

            "Here all ye Elves!" shouted Galadriel. "Let none again say the Dwarves are grasping and ungracious! Yet surely there is something that I could give…"

            Gimli, after refusing several times, asked for a strand of her hair, which "surpasses the gold of the earth." It became difficult not to laugh at this point, as Gimli was completely enamored with Galadriel and doing some serious flirting. But the slightly annoyed and tensed look Aragorn gave me sobered me right up.

            "And Haley Logan," she finally said, casting her gaze upon me. She extended her hand. On her ivory palm rested a small diamond shaped pendant of a stunning silver. A round and clear stone rested comfortably in the middle, its diameter barely the width of my smallest finger. It hung upon a fine silver chain. My jaw dropped. "A token to remind you of Lothlorien." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And remember, do not hide what you feel, _especially_ for others." I caught a mysterious twinkle in her eye, almost as if she knew something I didn't. "I wish you luck on this journey. May your heart remain pure and true." She clasped the chain around my neck, whispering a faint farewell. I placed my hand over the pendant, hearing her words echo in my head.

            "And you, Ring-bearer," Galadriel said, turning to the hobbit. "I come to you last who are not last in my thoughts. For you, I have prepared this." She held up a crystal phial. The crystal glittered in the sunlight while another light seemed to emanate from the phial itself. "I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light for you in dark places, where all other lights go out." Frodo accepted the phial from her, his blue eyes wide in amazement. He bowed to the Lady.

            And that marked the end of our stay in Lothlorien. Our farewells had been said and there was nothing else left to do. I climbed into my boat, my heart heavy with sadness, ready, but not anticipating the journey that lay ahead.

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've been working on it for a long time, but school's been keeping me busy. I had to put the gift-giving scene in there…I love it. They took out so much from the movie... BRING BACK TOM BOMBADIL PETER JACKSON!!! 

AND GUESS WHAT??? My chorus is doing _May it Be_!!! It's three-part harmony and it's sooooooooo pretty! I want to hire Orlando and Elijah to come onstage…well I think it's a good idea…


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: _Jingle Bells, Gimli smells,_

_                  Elrond laid an egg!_

_                 Gandalf hopped on a pogo stick_

_                And Kat doesn't own anything, HEY!_

A/N: These next couple chapters will mainly be regarding the trip down the Anduin and some other stuff  *hint, hint * Hee hee. But I want to pace it so that I'll be able to use the script for TT…probably won't work that way, but I want it to because using the script is a hell of a lot easier. Also, for the life of me, I cannot figure out exactly how long the trip down the river was. So I'm just estimating the time—does six days sound right? Well, if anyone knows, please let me know!

Chapter Eighteen

            We traveled down the river for several hours, stopping to rest only when the very last bit of light began to fade from the sky. The first day wasn't incredibly unpleasant—Gimli kept to himself and Legolas wasn't too horrid about my lesson. The only downfall was that it was boring and tiring. I was quite glad to climb out of that boat at the end of the day.

            The next day was significantly worse.

            I woke early the next morning, and immediately found that my shoulders and arms ached painfully from the extensive rowing I had done the day before. The temperature had also dropped considerably, the sky was grey, and the river seemed slightly turbulent. And to top it all off, the river smelled like fish. I wrinkled my nose and went to dress.

            About an hour later I was treated to a slightly burned breakfast. Sam had heated some of the cold sausage over the fire, hoping to start our day off with a "nice warm and hearty breakfast," but he momentarily forgot about the roasting sausages. So we had sausage flambé, slightly bitter coffee, and apples that were quite past their prime. Aragorn absolutely refused to break out the _lembas_, claiming that we should save them for emergencies. Trust me, this was an emergancy. But did he listen? No…

            We boarded the boats about fifteen minutes after breakfast. Gimli apparently had a pole stuck up his butt and consequently barked at anyone who tried to speak with him—mostly me, but that's nothing particularly usual. I made an effort to remain silent. Normally I wouldn't, but it appeared he was on a short fuse today, and he also had a very sharp axe.

            So I paddled along the gloomy river in silence. I was cold and sore, and my fingers were practically blocks of ice. I would periodically breathe hot air on them, but it didn't relieve the cold for long. I found myself longing for an oversized, fluffy, warm sweatshirt I used to wear, especially on cold winter nights or when I was sick. I sighed forlornly, wishing that Middle-earth would invent Target or something.

            Around late afternoon the sky grew darker and a thunderstorm seemed inevitable. I wasn't sure whether to be happy or angry about it. It would probably mean we'd have to stop for the night, but all the same, I wasn't in the mood to be drenched.

            A raindrop landed on my hand. I sighed, and wiped it off, pulling the hood of my cloak well over my head. 

            _I'll be damned if the rain messes up my hair…_I thought to myself as another splashed on the boat's floor. 

            More drops began to fall, dotting the interior of the boat with damp polka dots. In the next boat Aragorn looked at the sky, but made no sign of stopping. I pulled my hood tightly over my head.

            The rain was gentle at first and rather pleasant. But as we rowed onward, thunder rumbled in the distance. Almost as if it was a cue, the rain began to increase significantly, running in rivulets down my cloak. Aragorn paddled on.

            Ten minutes later we were in the middle of a torrential downpour. My leggings were completely soaked and clung to my legs. Puddles of water had collected in the boat and my shoes were now wet and uncomfortable, making squishing sounds whenever I moved my feet. My cloak was drenched, the water was beginning to seep through to my shirt, and my hair was becoming uncomfortably damp. I slumped miserably in my seat, praying that Aragorn would come to his senses and stop.

            Almost as if he had heard my thoughts, Aragorn began to veer off toward the bank of the river. I rowed with all my might, wanting nothing more than a warm fire and dry clothes. The bottom of the boat scraped against the sandy bottom and I smiled in relief. I scrambled out of the boat and into the water. Legolas nimbly followed and we shoved the boat onto the shore.

            It took a long while to harbor the boats. We piled our supplies under a fir tree and proceeded to dump the excess water out of the boats. Aragorn then made us carry them a little bit away from the shore, presumably to hide them from unfriendly eyes. I just thought it was a nuisance.

            I was completely soaked by then, and consequently very uncomfortable. I followed the others as we tramped through the woods in search of shelter, our supplies in hand. My teeth chattered and I rubbed my arms, wishing there was such a thing as Motel Six.

            We finally came upon a stone cave, large and well sheltered from the rain. After Aragorn deemed it acceptable (after making a meticulous inspection of the place for animals and every other paranoid thing he could think up) we wearily clambered inside. I sat down, leaning my back against the smooth cave wall.

            Once we were all in, a lantern was lit, it's meager light lighting up the dark interior. Everyone was soaked and thoroughly worn out. 

            "We will rest here tonight," said Aragorn, "but there will be no fire, as the wood is wet and will not take flame." I cursed to myself. Where was a gas fireplace when you needed one?

*

            About an hour later I had managed to change into dry clothes. I had forced the rest of the Fellowship to shut their eyes when I did so, and wore my old cloak the entire time, just to make sure. I shut my eyes when they changed as well. I really did _not_ need to see Gimli in his birthday suit…

            Once everyone was…clothed, I wrapped myself up in my old cloak and tried to sleep.

            Notice how I said tried.

            Aragorn was discussing something or another with Boromir, neglecting to lower his voice to a whisper. Gimli had also started to snore, which was loud, yet slightly amusing in its own twisted way. And it was cold.

            I shivered and pulled my cloak tightly around me. I shut my eyes and tried to relax. Soon, the sounds around me became distant as sleep slowly claimed me.

*

            I found myself in the garden again. The fountains bubbled merrily and vibrant beauty surrounded me. My eyes widened as I realized where I was.

            _Dammit, not this…get me out of here…_ I thought to myself. I struggled to wake up, but the dream had other plans.

            I felt the familiar arms twine themselves around my waist. I tried vainly to turn around, but his grip tightened and I found myself immobile. Soft lips gently caressed my neck, sending shivers up my spine. His kisses trailed up my neck to my earlobe. I felt myself weaken and I collapsed against his chest. Strong hands gently turned me around to face him. Shadow hid his face.

            "Who are you?" I asked. The shadow began to disappear and I watched his face intently, searching for any familiar characteristics. Up ahead the clouds parted and the light of the moon shone through. The rest of the shadow began to melt away and…

            I started awake, kicking my cloak away and sending someone's pack flying. My breath came in short gasps and my throat was dry.

            "Haley?" asked Aragorn, his expression showing some concern. Legolas and Gimli looked slightly startled, and Boromir looked at me curiously. The hobbits managed to sleep through this.

            "Has she gone mad?" asked Boromir, somewhat fearfully.

            "That happened a long while ago, if you ask me," replied Gimli. I exhaled sharply, too shaken up to even snap back.

            "I…I just had a dream…" I explained, my voice somewhat of a croak. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

            "I see…would you care to share?" he asked. I nearly jumped.

            "No! I mean…it was just…a nightmare…Lady Galadriel's been messing with my head ever since we arrived in Lothlorien," I replied, somewhat half-truthfully. It wasn't a nightmare really, but I just didn't feel like sharing the details of my dream…especially since it had such strong romantic themes. Aragorn nodded, seeming somewhat satisfied with my answer. Gimli eyed me suspiciously. I sighed and fumbled around for my canteen.

            As I sipped at the water, I noticed that neither the rain nor the cold had let up in the time I had slept. I was freezing and my teeth chattered uncontrollably as I sat huddled in the corner. 

            "Do you think we could get a fire going or something?" I asked Aragorn. He turned his calm eyes to mine.

            "Any wood we find would be too wet to set alight," he explained.

            "Well can't we set _something_ on fire? Does it have to be wood?" I asked, knowing full well that we couldn't have a fire. Aragorn smiled slightly and shook his head. I sighed irritably.

            I found, on further inspection, that my sleeping roll was also quite wet and there fore, unusable. So I sat and shivered.

            "Confound it!" exclaimed Gimli suddenly, rising to his feet in one leap. Sam and Pippin woke at his outburst and rubbed their eyes.

            "Wha's 'appenin'?" asked Pippin groggily, pulling his blanket over his shoulders.

            "I'll tell you what's happening!" roared Gimli. "I've nearly gone off my rocker after listening to all that chattering from that one!" he pointed a stubby finger at me.

            "Oh righ'. Well be sure to save some of the apples for me…" Pippin replied, curling up under his blanket. Sam muttered something about Frodo needing some fresh sheets. I held back laughter and looked innocently at Gimli.

            "What? I'm cold! I can't help it!" I replied. Gimli glared. Aragorn looked solemnly at Gimli.

            "All of us are rather uncomfortable, Master Dwarf, and picking a fight will not solve our problems or lighten the mood," he scolded gently. I held back a smirk. Gimli growled and sat back down, muttering incoherently to himself. After that episode, I made more of an effort to keep my chattering to a minimum.

*

            I have always had a tendency to roll around or kick a lot when I sleep. I'd often wake up in the morning at the foot of my bed, the covers twisted into a knotted mess. Before I had only considered it a mere annoyance, nothing too awful.

            After Gimli had quieted down, my eyelids began to droop and I fell into an uneasy and dreamless sleep. I'm not sure how long I slept, but I think it was a good hour or so.

            I woke up sometime later, feeling warm and comfortable. The lantern was still burning, casting a flickering light around the cave. As far as I could tell, everyone else was asleep.

 I had moved over a bit in my sleep and I was resting against something warm. At the time I had assumed it was someone's pack.

            I shifted slightly and made an important discovery.

            The bag was breathing.

            I leapt up, scooting away from the object, pressing myself against the wall. A figure sat up quickly, startled. The light from the lantern lit up Legolas' face and I turned a deep crimson as I realized that I had been cozying up against him for quite a bit.

            "Sorry," I whispered apologetically, trying to keep my embarrassment under control. It didn't work and a bit of a quaver crept into my tone. Legolas' lips curved up slightly in amusement and he shook his head.

            "That's quite alright," he replied. I flushed again and buried myself in my cloak.

            _I have never been so embarrassed since I had to ask Elrond for pads,_ I thought, hiding under the safety of my cloak.

            I reflected quietly on the incident for several moments and realized that it could have been much worse.

            It could have been Gimli…


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: _ I've got a love-ely bunch of coconuts (deedely dee)_

_                   There they are a-standing in a row (bom bom bom)_

_                  Big ones, small ones, one the size of your head…_

_                 But notice Peter Jackson that I didn't say Lord of the Rings so leave me alone and…::cough:: I mean…hello ma baby! Hello ma honey…_

Author's Note: This chapter is based on the GREAT idea Reikon gave me. *applause* Yaaaaaaaaay…now you get a sticker and a solid milk chocolate life-size statue of Legolas! *thinks* I need to get me one of those…anyhow, I encourage you to show your thanks by reviewing her fic, "Oceans of Grey", the long-awaited sequel to "Fancy" (if you didn't read the latter, I highly recommend it…then read the sequel! They're both on my fave stories list.) Anyhow, hugs and chocolate bars to my readers—I beat my old record thing for reviews (142…but they're taking music groups off…oh well, I don't care anyway)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter Nineteen

(dedicated to Reikon…thanks for the idea!!)

            The next morning I woke early. I gratefully noted that I was not suggestively wrapped around Legolas, Aragorn, or anyone else. I sighed happily, wrapping my cloak around my shoulders as my cheeks turned a deep hue of crimson as I recalled the events from the night before. A damp earthy smell assaulted my nostrils as I inhaled the morning breeze. The rain had ceased sometime during the night, leaving the earth to soak in its life-giving water. The early morning light shone brightly through the clouds that still covered the sky. It was still rather cold out, but not to the extreme that it was earlier. Happy and rejuvenated, I slipped my tunic on over my shirt and laced up my boots. The water had almost completely evaporated from the latter, leaving me in a good mood with a tunic that actually smelled fresh for a change.

            I busied myself with packing up my other clothes that were still too damp to wear as the Fellowship peacefully slept on, caught up in their own dreams. I quickly found myself with nothing else to do, and incredibly bored. I thought about starting breakfast, but I realized that Aragorn would probably have a cow because I had not consulted him beforehand. I had found, through past experiences that Aragorn liked things under control, as he tended to be extremely cautious. Boromir usually took Aragorn's side in most situations, which usually meant I would receive a scolding from both of them. The hobbits remained neutral more often than not, in hope that they would not do injury to someone else's feelings. Legolas normally remained impassive if the situation was not incredibly serious. But his hearing was too sensitive for me to do anything that would go unnoticed by him anyway. And Gimli would complain about me any chance he got, so there wasn't much of a point. 

            So I sat, silently contemplating what I might have done had Aragorn not been so nitpicky. I thought of the many sleepovers I had attended, allowing a smile to spread across my face as I thought about putting Gimli's hand in warm water.

            "What are you smiling about?" Gimli suddenly growled. I glanced over at him and started laughing uncontrollably, which sent him into an extreme state of confusion. Legolas started awake, giving me a strange look, which only forced more laughter out of me.

            I eventually roused the rest of the Fellowship with my loud display of hilarity. By the time Aragorn got me to calm down, my stomach muscles ached and I was too winded to explain exactly what I found so amusing.

*

            We stopped in the middle of the day for lunch, staying close to the water's edge because guess what, Aragorn was being overly paranoid. Again.

            I chewed thoughtfully at my apple, wondering how long my stash of soap would last when a loud, painful sigh escaped Merry's lips.

            "What's wrong?" I asked him, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. He looked up at me, offering a somewhat sad smile.

            "I miss the Shire," he replied. Pippin suddenly grinned.

            "_I_ know what he's _really_ missin'…" he said, giving Merry a bit of a nudge. Sam's lips curved up in a sly smile as the meaning of his words sunk in. Merry flushed red and suddenly became very interested in the dirt beneath his fingernails, which, provoked a hearty chuckle out of Frodo  

            "So…who's the lucky lady?" I asked, raising my eyebrows ever so slightly. Pippin opened his mouth to say something and Merry promptly tackled him, catching him in a headlock. 

            "No one," Pippin answered meekly. Merry nodded appreciatively and released his friend, returning to his position on the ground.

            "Well, if you ever need any advice on women, feel free to ask," I replied, taking a sip of water. Pippin's eyes widened slightly. 

            "You know aboot women?" he asked incredulously. I rolled my eyes.

            "Pippin, if you haven't noticed, I happen to _be_ one…" I replied. Pippin smacked his forehead.

            "Well o' course I knew _that_," he replied. "I jus' never really thought aboot asking you…"

            "Well I'm glad I didn't suddenly grow a beard or something…" I muttered.

            "You're the prettiest elf I've seen yet, Miss Haley," Sam offered, his cheeks turning red.

            "Oh my God, you are the sweetest…gimme a hug!" I demanded, pulling him into a bear hug. "See, this is a good example. Sam has got skill with the ladies," I replied, ruffling his hair slightly. "Flattery is key here fellas. And it has to be sincere. You can't just be all 'Um…nice hat…I mean, dress…yeah.' That doesn't do it. Tell her she looks beautiful…and be honest in the way you say it. The more gentlemanly you are, the better."

            "Alrigh'…Merry, are you writin' this down?" asked Pippin. Merry nodded as he frantically scribbled on a sheet of paper he had produced from his backpack. 

            "You shouldn't act jealous or overprotective either…it makes a girl feel claustrophobic…you should also be careful when she's PMS-ing," I explained. Pippin frowned slightly.

            "Wha's tha'?" he inquired.

            "You know…PMS…" I replied.

            "Yeah, wha's tha'?" 

            "PMS…" He still didn't get it, and neither did the rest of the hobbits. "You know…before a girl gets her period and she's pissed all the time?"

            "What's a period?" he asked. I was beet red now.

            "Period, Aunt Flo, Crimson Tide, That Time of the Month, Monthly Curse…" I nearly exclaimed. Pippin seemed to contemplate my exclamation, turning it over in his mind. "Monthly Courses…" I offered. Suddenly he turned red, clamping a hand his mouth. Merry blushed again and Sam and Frodo looked embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable.

            "Oh…" replied Pippin after a moment.

            "Yeah. That would be it…so it's not too wise to go pissing girls off then…or anytime really, but that's probably the most dangerous time to go about doing that…some aren't as bad as others though…"

            "What's the worst gift to give a girl?" asked Merry.

            "Any sort of household appliance, especially on an anniversary or her birthday. Unless she asks for it specifically."

            And so it went on.

            Eventually we had to pack up and get back out on the river again. That was probably one of the more interesting (and amusing) conversations I had with the hobbits. But I couldn't help but be glad that I didn't have to answer any questions about sex…thank God.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: There one was a girl from the 'burbs,

                   Who was more than slightly perturbed,

                   That she was forced to write these ridiculous rhymes,

                   Saying, "No, LOTR is certainly not mine,

                   Peter Jackson, this is getting absurd."

A/N: Ha ha…limericks are FUN! Anyhow, I've decided to just write the last scene of FOTR and go on to TT if I need to…I'll use the book until I can find the script (therefore if the dialogue is different, that'll be why.) But I might get lucky and be able to use the script…hopefully.

Chapter Twenty

            Our sixth and final day on the river was by far the most interesting, if not the most exciting.

            We started out early, like any other morning, with Gimli in a less than agreeable mood, creating noticeable tension for the rest of us. I made an effort to not bother him, but apparently my general existence is annoying so it didn't work out too well anyway.

            Around noon we began to approach a large rocky cliff that had been split in half by the blue river. As we drew closer to the jagged walls, I was able to pick out two massive figures that have been carved out of the stony surface. Both wore long flowing robes and elegant helmets that only a king would wear into battle. The one on my right had a neatly trimmed beard and clutched a long sheathed sword to his chest. The other was bare faced, resting his colossal hand on the cliffs. Both of them had extended their left hands, their palms facing forward, almost as if they were forbidding us to continue. Either that or they were planning on high-fiving any traveler who happened to pass by.

            As we glided along the river toward the two stony guardsmen, I became aware of their immense size. How they were created was beyond me, especially since there was no such thing as a jackhammer or anything else of the sort. 

            "Frodo," Aragorn murmured, tapping the hobbit on the shoulder, "The Argonath." He motioned to the two sculptures. "Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old, my kin." I looked up at them as we passed by their sandaled feet, the cracks in the stone decorated with moss and other undergrowth. I saw no resemblance other then the fact that the one on my right was almost as overprotective of his weaponry as Aragorn.

            That was probably the most interesting sight I saw that day. The Anduin would seriously not make it as a tourist attraction. There were two big statues and eight hundred billion trees that all looked annoyingly similar. Maybe if they built a couple hotels or water parks…

            As the day went on, I began to become aware of a slightly sinister aura that had enveloped the river. I felt like I was being watched. No one else seemed as nervous as I was. I shifted uneasily in my seat, casting my eyes downward in hopes that I would deter my silent watcher from further observation.

            We moored the boats in late afternoon on the riverbank, a good way off from where the Anduin gave off into a waterfall. The feeling of uneasiness had subsided slightly to the point where I was able to sit for a good twenty minutes or so without feeling watched.

            "We cross at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north," Aragorn explained as he moved some gear from the boat. Gimli angrily tossed a stick on the fire.

            "Oh yes?" the dwarf inquired, a slight annoyance growing in his tone. "Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks? And after that, it gets even better!" Pippin stopped chewing as his face fell, his eyes widening slightly. "Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see!" He drew this phrase out long, with great emphasis on the adjectives. I sighed heavily. Not only was he pessimistic, but also it looked like we were pretty well screwed.

            "That is our road," Aragorn replied simply, and I was able to detect a little bit of an attitude. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf." Gimli looked slightly taken aback.

            "Recover my—" he exclaimed angrily. He made a grunt of displeasure. I licked my index finger and held it in the air.

            "Pssssssssssssst…" 

            Gimli looked at me angrily and muttered something incomprehensible. Probably praying for my eternal damnation in dwarvish or something equally pleasant.

            "You know, some day you're going to get bitch slapped*…" I replied, pointing my finger at him. He grumbled again and glared, although he probably had little or no idea of the meaning of my comment.

            Looking uneasy and slightly stressed, Legolas hurriedly approached Aragorn, speaking in an undertone. 

            "We should leave now."

            "No," Aragorn replied bluntly. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

            "It is not the eastern shore that worries me," Legolas replied, searching the foliage with his gaze, looking for some hidden enemy. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it."

            "In other words, this place is as creepy as hell so let's leave," I replied. "Preferably sooner than later." Aragorn cast a slightly annoyed glance at me, one that was becoming all too familiar. 

            "Recover strength?" Gimli muttered as Merry dumped some firewood in a pile on the ground. I rolled my eyes. "Pay no heed to that, young hobbit." Merry stood up and glanced around, releasing a stream of air from his mouth.

            "Where's Frodo?" he asked Aragorn. Both Aragorn and Legolas looked up and searched the area for the hobbit. Sam abruptly sat up, having succumbed to a sleepy stupor, looking anxiously for any sign of his master. A somewhat worried and disturbed expression came across Aragorn's face as his glance fell upon the area that Boromir had previously occupied. He too had vanished, leaving his shield and other belongings unceremoniously abandoned at the foot of the tree.

            "Frodo…" murmured Aragorn, the slightest hint of fear creeping into his voice. I looked at the Ranger, waiting for some sort of instruction. After a moment he snapped back into reality. "We must divide up into parts and arrange—" he began. But his words fell upon deaf ears. Sam, Pippin, and Merry almost immediately dashed off, shouting for Frodo. Gimli, already angered and in want of a good fight, ran off in the opposite direction, growling and shouting as he ran. Legolas took this moment to go off in another direction, probably planning on doing something stealthy that only he understood. Shrugging, I followed him, as I was not planning on going off on my own, as I was feeling rather paranoid. And I rarely listened to Aragorn, so why start now?

*

            I followed Legolas for quite awhile, looking for God-knows-what. He refused to answer my questions, putting a finger to his lips whenever I tried to speak.

            We were climbing a rather steep hill when he suddenly froze, seeming to hear something.

            "What? What's wrong?" I asked.

            "Shh…" he whispered, silencing me with a wave of his hand. I closed my mouth and listened intently for anything unusual. Far off in the distance I heard crashing sounds, almost as if some large bulldozer had found its way into Middle-earth and had decided to clear the forest to make room for a shopping mall. Horrible grunts and snarls accompanied the noise, sounding too primitive to belong to a human, yet too terrifying to belong to any animal. I felt a shiver of fear creep up my spine.

            "What is that?" I asked softly.

            "I do not know…" Legolas replied, his brow creasing in worry. "Ready your weapon," he advised after a moment, withdrawing his bow and an arrow. "For I do believe that our foes will soon be upon us."

            I unsheathed my sword, my hands shaking slightly as I absorbed what Legolas had just said. 

            _"Trust yourself,"_ a familiar voice whispered in my mind. I smiled thoughtfully, not knowing whether the old wizard was sending me a message or whether I had completely lost it. But those two words, whether imagined or not, gave me confidence and I leapt after Legolas as he took off in the direction of the noise.

            As we ran, the sounds became louder and more distinct. I started to hear the rattle of armor and weaponry clanking together, and rough voices shouting commands in an unfamiliar language. A strange odor began to fill the air, smelling of unwashed bodies, sweat, and something else that was undistinguishable, but equally unpleasant.

            The trees were starting to thin and I could tell that we were very close to whatever creature that was terrorizing the countryside. Surprisingly, I had remained in control of myself and the tremble in my hand was miniscule. 

            And then I caught a glimpse of them.

            They stood about six feet tall, broad in the shoulders and waist. Their skin was leathery and black, with an occasional scarlet blotch. A white handprint had been painted upon their faces, their own hideously frightening war paint. Upon their heads rested stringy and coarse black hair that looked like it had never been washed. Their eyes were as yellow as those of a black cat on Halloween, burning with hate and malice, a desire for death and destruction. Their nostrils were slit, like a snake's, and their misshapen mouths opened to bare their hideously deformed teeth, tinged with a black substance that was unidentifiable, their gums swollen and grossly infected. Their eyeteeth were pointed, like a lizard or a snake's, presumably used for carnivorous purposes. I later learned that they were the Fighting Uruk-Hai, a crossbreed of the goblins and orcs, and apparently plagued with terminal ugliness.

            I heard the clash of weapons and the grunts of the Uruk-Hai as they came upon one of our Company. I recognized Aragorn's masculine voice rising above the clamor as he launched into battle. Legolas motioned for me to follow him, obviously formulating some strategic battle plan in his intricate mind. That was the difference between us: Legolas planned his attacks; I just hacked at whatever attacked me.

            "Find the Halflings!" I heard a hideously warped voice shout as I ran after Legolas. "Find the Halflings!" An anxious fear for the four hobbits began to flood my mind as I rounded a corner, nearly knocking into an axe-wielding Gimli. I followed the dwarf out into the battle, sword in hand. Legolas released an arrow and then ran to help Aragorn up from under the body of a dead Uruk-Hai. Gimli angrily sprung into action, taking down anything that came near his deadly axe. My display of my swordsmanship was not nearly as flamboyant or practiced as anyone else's, but all I was really concerned with was staying alive at that point.

            "Aragorn! Go!" shouted Legolas readying another arrow. Aragorn dashed away, leaving us to fend for ourselves. I sighed and readied my sword.

*

            I don't know how long I fought. I managed to keep myself more or less intact, receiving several scratches and bruises on several occasions. I also discovered a very successful battle tactic: if it's looking bad for you, give your enemy a good kick in the family jewels. As far as I know, several Uruk-Hai can no longer be classified as men…

            Sometime later the bellowing call of a horn broke the battle calls and clashes of weaponry. Legolas paused and looked toward the source of the noise.

            "The Horn of Gondor!" he exclaimed.

            "Boromir!" murmured Aragorn, who had since rejoined us. He took off in the direction of which the horn had sounded from, mercilessly disposing of anything that got in his way. I brought my sword out of a twitching Uruk Hai and ran after Legolas and Aragorn, trying to keep pace with the two.

            It seemed to take me forever to reach Boromir. I eventually lost sight of Aragorn, caught up in a battle between a rather disgruntled group of Uruk-Hai. I think it may have had something to do with my kicking habits…or they may have just been angry in general.

            I sprinted after Legolas, hoping that Aragorn had reached Boromir in time. I scaled a hill to find mounds of slain and maimed Uruk-Hai scattered about the forest floor. Amongst the lifeless corpses crouched Aragorn, bending over what looked like Boromir.

            I carefully picked my way through the dead and stood next to Legolas who was a good bit away from the two, wearing a mixed expression of sorrow and pity. I looked at Boromir, who lay gasping for breath, three feathered arrows protruding from his chest. I allowed myself a sad smile. It took three arrows to bring him down. It struck me as bittersweet because he was always such a strong fighter and he wouldn't let one blow kill him. He would fight to the very end.

            "I would have followed you, my brother," he gasped, his voice raspy as death came close. "My captain. My king." The tears that had formed in my eyes trailed down my cheeks. It was a moment that was incredibly upsetting, yet strangely beautiful in its entirety. Boromir took a few more labored breaths and then suddenly relaxed as death claimed him. Aragorn bent his head and touched his forehead and lips with his fist, and bent over Boromir.

            "Be at peace, Son of Gondor," he whispered, kissing Boromir's cold forehead. Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks as he did this and I struggled to remain in control of myself as the Ranger stood up. The sunlight made his face glow and it lit up the single crystalline tear that traveled slowly down his cheek. I bowed my head slightly, fearing that if I looked at him too long, I would break down entirely.

            "We must bring his body to the boats," Aragorn said after a moment. "Gimli, cut some branches so we may construct a bier to bear him on."

            The dwarf obligingly cut some branches with his axe and Legolas lashed them together with bowstrings. We spread our cloaks over the rough contraption and Aragorn and Legolas lay the body of Boromir upon the cloaks and proceeded to lift the device like a stretcher. I gathered the weapons of the departed soldier and followed Aragorn and Legolas with Gimli trailing close behind me.

            We reached our campsite a good while later. I had stopped crying by then and was reduced to an occasional sniff or two. I helped Aragorn empty one of the boats, noticing that one of them was missing. Looking out over the river, I saw the aforementioned boat heading toward the shore of the opposite bank, with two smallish people inside it. I knew it was Frodo and Sam, as Aragorn had told us, much to my dismay, that Merry and Pippin had been kidnapped. Allowing a few tears to fall, I silently prayed for the safety of the two friends on their journey.

            We arranged Boromir in the empty boat, his sword clutched in his still hands, his shield resting up above his head, his horn, now cloven in two, by his elbow. Aragorn removed the arrows from his body and placed them at his feet with the swords of his enemies. Once this was done, we released the boat out on the river, allowing the water to carry it according to its will.

            "Hurry!" Legolas called once the boat had disappeared over the waterfall. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore!" He grabbed the remaining boat and brought it out to the water. He looked back at Aragorn's sullen and silent form. "You mean not to follow them," he replied, somewhat sadly.

            "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn replied simply. I sighed, trying to keep back tears.

            "Then it has all been in vain," Gimli said, a hint of depression creeping into his tone. "The Fellowship has failed." I felt my stomach knot up as the truth of his words fully sunk in. Aragorn slowly approached us, placing his hand on Gimli's and my shoulder.

            "Not if we hold true to each other," he replied quietly. Gimli clapped his hand on Aragorn's forearm. I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder as Legolas followed suit. Hesitantly, I did the same, resting my hand on Aragorn's and Legolas' shoulders. It was a very empowering moment, but I still couldn't help feeling like I was some sort of Girl Scout. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." He released my shoulder and went to retrieve a knife. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light." He looked at us with a bit of a smile. "Let's hunt some orc." Gimli looked at Legolas, then me and smiled for the first time in about three months.

            "Yes!" he exclaimed from behind his beard. He ran off, following Aragorn. Legolas half-smiled and I grinned, shouldering my pack, dashing after my companions.

            It was in this moment that I made a stunning realization.

            It was completely random, as I wasn't even thinking about anything related to the topic. I suppose it was more of recognition of the feeling rather than a realization, but it was somewhat shocking all the same. I suppose I had known in the far recesses of my being, but I had failed to recognize or acknowledge it until that moment. 

            I knew who was in my dream, or at least who I wanted it to be. I finally understood what Galadriel meant. The questions she had posed were answered with one simple phrase that constantly ran through my mind.

            _You have a crush on Legolas._

            At first I was a little surprised, as it seemed rather unlikely. We were two completely different people. He was always well-prepared, quiet, calm, courteous, and in control of himself…whereas I was sarcastic, loud, completely unpredictable, and generally clueless. It didn't seem to work. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense and the pieces of Galadriel's puzzle slowly began to fall into place.

            It was a wonderful end to a perfectly awful day.

A/N: Dun da dun! There you have it. The conclusion of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ **and** the answer to all (or some) of your questions about the romance (I hope it's not too clichéd or Mary Sue…). However, this is **NOT** the end!!!! I repeat, this is **NOT** the end. I will be continuing into _Two Towers_ and _Return of the King_. I'll probably be using the book for most of the TT part—at least until the movie comes out. Using the script is soooo much easier. But if the dialogue changes from book to movie, that's why. Review!

* = Line from _Ten Things I Hate About You_—or at least I think. I was working on a project with some friends so I wasn't paying close attention…but it seemed so _appropriate_ here…

**NOT** the end!


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Disclaimer: Today we have a very special guest with us. Please welcome Mr. Peregrin "Pippin" Took!

Pippin: (steps up to a microphone with his hands tucked behind his back) Good afternoon ladies an' gen'lmen. I'm here ter tell all you reviewers that none of this stuff belongs ter Blue Kat. It all belongs to Pe'er Jackson and Tolkien. So…don' sue 'er. (looks at audience shyly and beams cutely before scuttling off stage).

Who shall do the disclaimer next? If you have any requests, let me know in your review. Majority wins.

Chapter Twenty-One

            My feelings on running and any large amounts of speed walking are as follows: "Why run if you can just drive there?"

            My gym teacher never appreciated this opinion; most particularly when I pointed out the ineffectiveness of running back and forth across a playing field when we could just as easily play on a golf cart or something. Or at least pick one side of the field and stay there, rather than running back and forth. How was this continuous amount of sprinting _really_ going to help us when we took our first steps into the real world?

            This argument ironically won me ten additional laps around the track and/or a detention, depending on how much I protested.

            I knew from the very beginning that Aragorn would not appreciate nor heed my arguments and complaints, and I realized that it would be selfish of me to complain when Merry and Pippin were probably experiencing torture more painful and exhausting than continuous amounts of running. I also understood that my companions were all suffering as much as I was and that it was equally uncomfortable for them.

            But _someone_ had to be the selfish bitch in this group and the job was appointed to me when my feet started to hurt and my stomach growled with hunger.

            "No," Aragorn replied when I inquired if we could stop for just a moment. I frowned in annoyance. "Have a bite of _lembas_ if you're tired," he offered. I had no choice but to listen to the Ranger and occasionally nibbled on a sweet cake as we went along.

            The day slowly gave away to dusk and the sun began to slowly melt into the horizon. It was quite a spectacular sunset, beautiful hues of pink, orange, and red melting together like nacho cheese (I was rather hungry at this point and had a strange craving for any kind of processed cheese), the dark blue of the sky deepening as the last bit of light began to disappear. A cold mist began to rise as the sun set, hiding the landscape in a murky curtain.

            The silvery moon began to rise in the sky, its soft gentle light a beacon of hope in the darkness as we stumbled along. Multitudes of stars began to appear as well, twinkling brightly in the night sky. 

            The light of the moon and stars was enough to guide us for many hours. Fatigue had more or less evaded me, as my elven qualities essentially subdued my need for sleep. But this afternoon's trials had begun to take their toll on me as the night tediously wore on. I took several bites of _lembas_, quietly wondering how Aragorn and Gimli were able to maintain their fast pace when they clearly needed rest. I concluded that they had bought some secret dwarven coffee (99.9% caffeine) off the black market. Or they just didn't complain as much as me.

            We finally rested as the pale light of dawn began to creep into the dark sky. I ate half of a loaf of bread with some sharp cheddar cheese and attempted to make friendly conversation with Gimli before I realized he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. I began to laugh at this, as I was nearly giddy with weariness, and it made sense to me at the time. Aragorn looked at me, raising an eyebrow in question.

            "Oh, I don't even know," I replied, taking a mouthful of water from my canteen. "I'm tired and the world fails to make any sense whatsoever." I paused for a moment. "Do we have any coffee?" I asked, hoping for (and needing) a bit of a caffeine rush. Aragorn shook his head.

            "We don't have enough time to indulge in such things," he replied. I made a face, provoking a slight laugh out of Aragorn.

            "Here," said Legolas, withdrawing a flask from his cloak. I took it from his hand, eying it suspiciously. "_Miruvor_," he explained.

"_I duin na nev i erin_," I replied, not having the slightest idea as to what he was talking about. _I duin na nev i erin_ was the first Sindarin sentence I had fully mastered—it means "the forest is near the river" and often served as my useful reply when Legolas asked one of his inconceivable questions that I could not understand. Aragorn grinned slightly and Legolas allowed a smile to play at the corners of his lips.

"_Miruvor_," he repeated. "The cordial of Imladris. It means nectar. Drink only a little—it is very precious." I uncorked the flask, and brought it to my lips, hesitantly sipping at the liquid. It was very sweet, tasting fresh and clean in my mouth, rolling down my throat smoothly in a steady stream. I began to feel a warm glow slowly spreading throughout my body, followed by a rush of energy that completely masked my former lethargy. I felt like I had awoken from a long sleep that left my body completely refreshed.

And the whole idea that Legolas may have previously drank from the aforementioned flask _was_ rather appealing…

*

After a while, both Aragorn and Legolas decided that we had rested long enough. We gathered our belongings, woke Gimli (well, Aragorn did that. I watched from about ten feet away), and prepared to set out again.

We followed the orc trail for a while, Aragorn in the lead, pointing out signs of the orcs' passage. It went very well for about a half an hour—the predawn light was enough for us to see where we were going, the trail was clear (orcs are incredibly lacking when it comes to subtlety), and our rest earlier had done wonders for our energy.

But then the trail simply vanished.

Aragorn looked muddled as he scanned the ground for signs of the trail that had been so obviously laid out before us earlier.

"Which way would they turn, do you think?" asked Legolas after a moment or two. "Northward to take a straighter road to Isengard, or Fangorn if that is their aim, as you guess? Or Southward to strike the Entwash?"

"Or maybe they went back to hell," I offered, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind my ear.

"They will not make for the river, whatever mark they aim at," Aragorn replied. "And unless there is much amiss in Rohan and the power of Saruman is greatly increased, they will take the shortest way that they can find over the fields of the Rohirrim. And hell seems rather unlikely," he added. I laughed, my spirits lifted slightly. "Let us search northwards!"

We trekked on for a while or so, heading for some unknown destination. Things would have been so much easier if we had a helicopter—or even a golf cart. But I suppose the Fates of Middle-earth enjoyed messing around with my life, so we jogged and power walked for quite a bit.

            I was nibbling at a bit of cheese when Legolas suddenly called out, startling me and consequently causing me to trip and fall. Muttering curses to myself, I stood up, gently rubbing my wrist, which had absorbed most of the impact.

            "We have already overtaken some of those that we are hunting!" he exclaimed. He motioned to several huddled forms at the foot of a slope. Upon looking closer, I realized that they were the lifeless bodies of orcs, horribly maimed, their dark blood staining the ground, giving a slight stench to the air.

            "Here is another riddle!" exclaimed Gimli. "But it needs the light of day, and for that we cannot wait."

            "Yet however you read it, it seems not unhopeful," added Legolas. I raised my eyebrows. Oh sure. "Enemies of the orcs are likely to be our friends. Do any folk dwell in these hills?"

            "No," replied Aragorn. "The Rohirrim seldom come here, and it is far from Minas Tirith. It might be that some company of Men were hunting here for reasons we do not know. Yet I think not."

            "What do you think?" asked Gimli, leaning heavily on his axe.

            "I think that the enemy brought his own enemy with him. These are Northern orcs from far away. Among the slain are none of the Great Orcs with strange badges. There was a quarrel, I guess: it is no uncommon thing with these foul folk. Maybe there was some dispute about the road."

            "Or the captives," added Gimli.

            "Or politics," I offered. Aragorn looked at me oddly. "Hey, politics are no laughing matter. My aunt's best friend got into a pretty heated debate at the Jewel with a cashier. The manager had to break them apart with the produce hose." Aragorn seemed to ponder this for a moment before shrugging it off as one of my more bizarre ideas.

            I love causing confusion.

*

            A little while later we found the tracks again, just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. The first part of the day was annoyingly boring, monotony stretching as long and as endless as the plains we constantly had to cross.

            Several hours later, Aragorn gave a shout and turned aside from the trail.

            "Stay! Do not follow me yet!" he instructed. He followed a relatively small series of indentations in the grass, which bore a vague resemblance to child-sized footprints. The small prints were quickly overtaken by a larger set, ones that left the grass dark and bruised—those of the orcs. Aragorn knelt and scooped up a small shiny object that had been lost in the blades of grass and returned to us, his discovery cupped gently in his hand. "Yes, they are quite plain: a hobbit's footprints, Pippin's, I think. He is smaller than the other. And look at this!" He held the object up in the air so that it slightly reflected the light of the sun. It was the leaf-like brooch that adorned the cloaks we had received in Lothlorien. 

            "The brooch of an elven cloak!" exclaimed Legolas and Gimli simultaneously.

            "Congratulations. You win a new car!" I added. Aragorn gave me a look. "I'm sorry," I shrugged. "I had to say it. And I'm so good at ruining a moment..." I smiled innocently, batting my eyelashes. Aragorn sighed, muttering something in some form of elvish. Legolas smirked slightly as the words fell upon his ears. "Some day I will be fluent and then you'll be sorry…" Aragorn just shook his head.

            "Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," he said, holding up the brooch between his thumb and index finger. This did not drop by chance: it was cast away as a token to any that might follow. I think Pippin ran away from the trail for that purpose."

            "Then at least he was alive," added Gimli. "And he had the use of his legs and his wits too. This is heartening. We do not pursue in vain."

            "Let us hope he did not pay too dearly for his boldness," said Legolas, staring thoughtfully into the distance. "Come! Let us go on! The thought of those merry young folk driven like cattle burns my heart."

            I wanted to laugh at the description Legolas used, as was rather funny in its own twisted way, but I managed to bite my tongue and save my laughter for another occasion. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Disclaimer: Nicole Kidman (as "Satine"): _One day I'l flllllllllllly away—_

                    Kat: (snatches away microphone) And when she sprouts wings and flies off into the distance with a herd of maroon cows, _then_ I'll own LOTR! And right now I'm glad I don't because I don't have to deal with all the stress and stuff that comes with releasing _Two Towers_…

            Peter Jackson: (turning red and crumpling a paper to an unrecognizable pulp) Why you little…

NK: What the—who is this? My contract didn't say ANYTHING about this!

            Kat: (giggling nervously as Peter Jackson approaches with clenched fists) Hah, well, looks like this disclaimer is over. (Looks at Nicole) Oh sorry. Carry on. (Disappears in a cloud of fairy dust as Peter Jackson lunges at her).

            PJ: AHHHH! (trips and falls).

            NK: (looking uneasily at the director) _Leave all this to yesterday…_

A/N: Okay, OKAY, I'm updating! That wasn't too long was it? It didn't seem long. Anyhow, I broke my little toe! I didn't run into a doorway this time (I've done that twice before already). I just stubbed it really hard. But it's all bruised and swollen. Just thought I'd share that. I'd also like to give a shout out to Sephoria and alienracer for leaving some seriously wonderful reviews, along with Remy LeBeau because she changed her name. Again. Candy canes for everyone! ALSO: I'd like to break 200 reviews this chapter! Please review! All reviews go to my Save the Toe Fund.

Shameless Plug: I started a new fic!  A LOTR humor Christmas fic! Go check it out and review!

Chapter Twenty-Two

            We continued on foot, following the orc trail throughout the entire day. Aragorn kept the pace fast, often going from a fast walk to a light and quick jog. The _lembas_ cakes were my salvation, filling my stomach and causing energy to flow through my body in large amounts, its source unknown, emerging suddenly from the recesses of my being.

            But like caffeine, the _lembas_ only provided me with an artificial energy that lasted only so long. I could feel fatigue beginning to creep ever so slightly into my system. As the afternoon progressed, a headache began to take shape in my sinuses, caused and irritated by the jolting movements of running. 

            The sun soon began to melt into the thin line of the horizon, the sky turning pink with the last remaining streaks of light. Night began to draw around us like a cloak, dark and mysterious, the stars hidden by clouds. I was tempted to just lie down and curl up in my cloak and fall asleep with the rest of the world, but I didn't expect that to be an option.

            Aragorn stopped soon after night fell, regarding us pensively, almost as if he was observing what remaining strength we had left. He himself wasn't looking too great—sleep dragging at his eyes, an unusual pallor creeping on to his face. I looked at Gimli. He had faint circles under his eyes, which seemed a little more baggy than usual. The color had slightly drained from his countenance, but he didn't seem to care—in fact he seemed quite determined to continue on as is.

            Crazy dwarf.

            Even Legolas was looking a little weary. His eyes seemed slightly glassy and he had temporarily spaced off with the blank look of an exhausted student trying to remain awake during class. But nevertheless, he remained unshaken, standing with the same poise and vigilance that I had grown used to.

            Aragorn looked at me oddly as he observed my inspection of everyone. Either that or he was slightly disturbed with my own appearance. Parts of my hair had slipped out of my once neat braid, and had been frizzed by the wind. Dirt speckled my hands and face, sometimes disrupted by the sheen of sweat that had developed on my forehead. I needed sleep, a meal, and a shower. A foot rub would have been nice too.

            "We have come at last to a hard choice," said Aragorn after awhile. I folded my arms across my chest, expecting a set of options involving travel. By then I was too tired to care and didn't particularly want to hear about anything that had to do with our journey unless it involved a luxury bus with a shower. "Shall we rest by night, or go on while our will and strength hold?" My eyes widened. This man was certainly insane—as I saw it, there _was_ no choice in the matter.

            "Unless our enemies rest also, they will leave us far behind if we stay to sleep," offered Legolas. I looked at him, wondering if he too had lost it.

            "Surely even orcs must pause on the march?" asked Gimli, disbelief creeping into his robust tone.

            "Seldom will orcs journey under the open sun, yet these have done so," Legolas pointed out. "Certainly they will not rest by night." My spirits fell as I heard this. A vague promise of sleep had been taking form, but it was shattered with this knowledge. I sighed.

            "But if we walk by night we cannot follow their trail," Gimli replied. This was one of the few times where I was completely happy with Gimli.

            "Thank you…" I murmured, hoping that this guaranteed us some well-deserved sleep. Gimli gave me a strange look from beneath his bushy eyebrows; almost as if he was surprised I had thanked him. Imagine that…

            "The trail is straight and turns neither left nor right as far as my eyes can see," Legolas responded, gesturing into the distance. My jaw nearly dropped.

            "No! You weren't supposed to say that!" I scolded. "And what about gopher holes? You can't see them in the dark! I'll break my neck _and_ my ankle!" This time all three of them gave me a strange look. I sighed. "Never mind…I just want to sleep." 

            "Maybe I could lead you at guess in the darkness and hold to the line," mused Aragorn, "but if we strayed or they turned aside, then when light came there might be long delay before the trail was found again."

            "And there is this also," added Gimli, "only by day can we see if any tracks lead away. If a prisoner should escape, or if one should be carried off eastward, say, to the Great River towards Mordor, we might pass the signs and never know of it."

            "That is true," replied Aragorn. "But if I read the signs back yonder rightly, the Orcs of the White Hand prevailed, and the whole company is now bound for Isengard. Their present course bears me out."

            "Yet it would be rash to be sure of their counsels," said Gimli. I began to wonder if they would ever come to a decision or just talk all night about what _might_ happen if we did this or that. "And what of escape? In the dark we should have passed the signs that led you to the brooch."

            "One of us could have stepped on it," I offered. I received the same looks as the last time I spoke. I shrugged. "They're sharp and pointy. They must hurt if you step on one. Or at least make a crunching sound…" There was a silence as the three men pondered my words. "Okay, so maybe I'm just crazy."

            Much to my annoyance, they all seem to accept this as a perfectly good reason for my outburst.

            "The Orcs will be doubly on their guard since then, and the prisoners even wearier," Legolas continued. "There will be no escape again, if we do not contrive it. How that is to be done cannot be guessed, but first we must overtake them."

            "And yet even I, a dwarf of many journeys and not the least hardy of my folk cannot run all the way to Isengard without any pause," Gimli replied heartily. It was extremely difficult to not start laughing at this point. Who else uses the description "a dwarf of many journeys" in a regular sentence? "My heart burns me too…I must rest a little to run the better…"

            "I said that it was a hard choice," Aragorn said, a haughtiness creeping into his voice that clearly said "I-told-you-so." "How shall we end this debate?"

            "Listen to my advice and get some sleep?" I asked hopefully. Aragorn placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, most likely to encourage my silence.

            "You are our guide," said Gimli after a moment, "and you are skilled in the chase. You shall choose."

            "My heart bids me to go on…" Legolas began.

            "What?" I interrupted. "What _exactly_ was in your _lembas_ cakes?" Receiving nothing but a confused look, I shook my head tiredly, dismissing the thought.

            "We must hold together," continued Legolas. "I will follow your counsel."

            "You give the choice to an ill-chooser," admitted Aragorn.

            _Oh my God, we are so screwed,_ I thought to myself silently. For once I was glad I had decided to not share that comment with the rest of the company. I doubt it would have been appreciated.

            "Since we passed through the Argonath my choices have gone amiss…" Aragorn fell silent, staring out into the dark, seeming to piece together a puzzle in his intricate mind. 

            "We will not walk in the dark," he began, still studying the dark landscape with his keen eyes. "The peril of missing the trail or signs of other coming and going seems to me the greater. If the Moon gave enough light, we would use it, but alas! He sets early and he is yet young and pale."

"Would that the Lady had given us a light, such a gift as she gave to Frodo!" Gimli grumbled.

"It will be more needed where it is bestowed," Aragorn replied. "With him lies the true Quest. Ours is but a small matter in the great deeds of this time." I reflected on this for a moment, wondering if we would make a difference. How would this all turn out? I had left my own world, my life in tatters and I was just getting a new start at life in Middle-earth, rebuilding from the ashes. Was it all in vain? Would evil outweigh the world I was only beginning to know and love?

I found it unusually difficult to fall asleep that night.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR, then I would be able to afford to purchase something other than candy canes for my friends for Christmas.

A/N: Well, this chapter _would_ have been up sooner—but, I had to update my other fic (A Fellowship Christmas…read, please?? *puppy eyes*) and I decided to revise what I had already written on this chapter because the first version was crap…but now that's all good. You know what annoys me? When the statistic thing shows you that you've got eight reviews but it only shows you six. Grr…it also annoys me when people don't update lots! That would be a subtle hint to whomever's writing fics I like to update. Heh heh.

Guess what? I saw _Two Towers_!!! It was great and I want to see it again soon. But I now have tons of inspiration for this story, so that's good. However, I need a copy of the script! If anyone knows where I can get a copy of one, please let me know! It would help _so_ much!

Also, I'm doing some beta reading now! I just finished beta reading alienracer's fic (sorry it was so late!! J) So if anyone needs a beta-reader, I can do it…but I don't know how long it'll take…hee hee. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

            For three years I had the same New Year's Resolution:

            _I, Haley Logan, will run at least three miles a week in order to improve my nonexistent running skills and in vague hope of becoming a healthier person._

            I decided to change it to something more along the lines of:

            _I, Haley Logan, will take up biking or something else that does not involve running._

            I had thought that the first day or so following the orc trail was bad. At that time, I was young, naïve, and simple-minded.

            Okay, so maybe I was _still_ young, naïve, and simple-minded the next day, but I was more exhausted than I was previously.

            And apparently all of our hard work and blisters were made in vain, as our third day of pursuit brought us no closer to the orcs than we were when we began that morning. It was quite possible that we had only dragged further behind, as the orcs had been reduced to no more than blurry grey shadows on the horizon.

            The exchanges of dialogue made in this significantly long period of time were uninteresting and could be summed up as:

            "I think they went that way because the trail goes that way, and besides, Saurman is evil! Legolas, can you see anything?"

            "Yup. They're way over there."

            "Well, we have to keep going, even though we're all exhausted."

            "But—"

            "Haley, shut up and stop complaining. Besides, I'm the leader and I said so."

            "Okie dokie." (That would be Legolas and Gimli while I muttered angrily to myself).

            That was the general idea of any conversation made in that period of time. Why we had to constantly stop and discuss these things was beyond me, but I decided that it was best not to inquire further.

            When I awoke on the morning of our fourth day of pursuit, there was no sign of the orcs. Only the bruised and beaten grass that stretched before us gave evidence of their passing, and even that was beginning to slowly melt away. I sighed unhappily. At that point, it appeared that everything we had accomplished thus far had been useless. The deck was stacked against us—we were playing a losing game. These realizations gave me no motivation to arise from my makeshift bed and I decided to go back to sleep. The sub consciousness lacked the problems that I was faced with, and it frankly seemed more appealing than real life. I made an attempt to get comfortable on the ground before pulling my sleeping roll far over my head, shutting out the world, only aware of the warm dark that enveloped and comforted my body.

            It was only a mere ten minutes later before my quiet and blissful half-dream state was rudely shattered as a gentle hand began shaking my shoulder slightly.

            "Haley…" someone murmured softly. I wrapped my sleeping roll more tightly around my shoulders, attempting to discourage whoever was disturbing me from interrupting my light slumber that had distracted me from the disappointments that had so far marred my day.

            "G'way," I muttered angrily to the ground. "Need more sleep."

            "Haley…" There was a slight warning in the voice and the speaker's shakes became more insistent. I rolled over and peeked over the edge of my blankets, shooting a glare in the direction of my disturber. I was slightly surprised to be greeted by the amused azure gaze of Legolas, who seemed incredibly cheerful, despite the state of affairs. As cheesy and sappy as it sounds, I felt a blush beginning to creep into my cheeks—something that tended to happen _a lot_ around members of the opposite sex that I found attractive. I had mostly managed to avoid it—but there was something rather intimate about the whole situation that I found hopelessly embarrassing.

            But I tried my best to remain calm and appear slightly annoyed, which, despite the circumstances, I was.

            "If this has _anything_ to do with Sindarin, I will personally—" I began, squinting at the early morning sun that bore into my eyes.

            "It's time to get up," Legolas replied simply. I sighed unhappily, and attempted to pull my sleeping roll back over my shoulders, despite the firm grip on my shoulder. I ended up not moving, staring up at the blonde elf angrily.

            "I feel hostile…" I muttered. Legolas smiled slighty.

            "Come. We may be able to overtake them if we act quickly," he replied reassuringly, almost as if he could sense the discouragement I felt. I grumbled and made an attempt to sit up.

            "Can't move…" I whined, leaning back onto the ground. "Too tired…too sore…"

            "Shall I go get Gimli then?" asked Legolas rising, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

            "I'M UP! I'M UP!!"

*

            It took me all of five minutes to get up and have breakfast. Aragorn said he'd never seen me move faster in the morning. I noticed Legolas hide a smile behind his hand when the Ranger mentioned this.

            I would have thrown something at him if I could have gotten away with it.

            I settled on giving him the evil eye instead.

            Later, as we were all preparing to set out again, a distant sound broke over the whisper of the wind. It was odd, sounding slightly like many people drumming their fingers on a table, all at different times and in different tempos. I tilted my head slightly toward the source of the noise; curious as to what might be causing such a sound. I frowned slightly; it seemed vaguely familiar, yet I could not place it no matter how hard I tried. Aragorn and Legolas had noticed something, as they both looked toward the thin line of the horizon inquisitively, not saying anything. Even Gimli seemed to detect something slightly amiss, peering at the land stretched lazily in front of us, looking for something.

            "What is that noise?" I asked after a moment. Aragorn noiselessly placed a finger to his lips. Kneeling down on the earth, he pressed his ear to the ground, reminding me of scenes from old Western movies that were often featured on movie channels late at night. I looked into the distance, hoping to find some sort of clue. Almost immediately I found what was making that strange noise. A band of horsemen were moving quickly across the land. I was able to see them rather distinctively, to a point where I could have taken account of their individual characteristics, but at the time, I was more concerned if they were friendly or not.

            "Riders!" exclaimed Aragorn, smiling slightly as he leapt nimbly to his feet. "Many riders on swift steeds, coming toward us!" He strode forward and peered at the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

            "Yes," replied Legolas, his gaze still locked on the horsemen. "There are one-hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall." I raised my eyebrows.

            "You are _such_ an overachiever," I replied, shaking my head. Legolas looked at me smugly.

            "Keen are the eyes of elves," Aragorn said, clapping me on the shoulder.

            "And insane is the mind of Legolas," I replied, earning a look from Legolas. I smiled back innocently, knowing that I would fully pay for that comment with a Sindarin lesson.

            "The riders are little more than five leagues distant," Legolas replied after a moment. I had no idea how long a league was, let alone five, but I decided that it would be wise to keep those questions to myself for the time being.

            "Five leagues or one, we cannot escape them on bare land," Gimli replied. I rolled my eyes.

            "You're so optimistic it kills me," I said, forgetting to turn the filter between my brain and my mouth on. Gimli shot me a look and leaned on his axe, almost to say 'Go ahead. Make my day.' I smiled uneasily, scooting closer to Aragorn and farther away from Gimli. "I mean…you're absolutely right, Gimli…" I offered after a moment, in an attempt of reconciliation.

            "Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?" Gimli inquired after a moment or two. Aragorn stared off into the distance, somewhat sadly.

            "We will wait," he replied. "I am weary and our hunt has failed. Or at least others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them." Despite his ending statement, Aragorn's little speech made my shoulders droop slightly with further discouragement. I felt as happy as Martha Stewart did when her insider trading was exposed to the public.

            "Or spears," replied Gimli, further dampening my spirit. I sighed to show my displeasure, as it probably wasn't the best time for me to start talking again.

            Legolas looked at the horizon again, perhaps this time trying to determine the eye color of some of the riders and whether or not they had beards.

            "There are three empty saddles," he reported after a moment. "But I see no hobbits." 

            "I did not say that we should hear good news," Aragorn replied quietly, "but good or evil, we will await it here." 

            You could imagine what a poor mood I was in by that point.

            I followed Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli silently down the hill we had been standing, occasionally losing my balance. We sat down to rest at the foot. I was immediately sentenced to a Sindarin lesson once we were settled, but I suppose my poor mood and uncharacteristic silence was helpful to me, as Legolas seemed to go easier on me than he normally did.

            As the riders began to approach, everyone began to grow uneasy. I fidgeted nervously, constantly shifting around on the ground, my hands unable to stay still, moving of their own accord.

            Soon they were nearly upon us, their features plain and much easier to pick out now that they were closer. Their mounts were beautiful, sporting coats glossy with health, their manes, and tails combed and shining brightly as they flowed flawlessly into the wind. These horses were show-worthy, all at the pinnacle of health, and obviously lovingly cared for by their masters. I found myself overcome with the childlike desire of wanting a horse of my own.

            The men who rode upon these horses seemed in equal physical condition. They were all rather tall and long-limbed, most bearing longish blonde hair that streamed behind them from beneath their helmets. I noticed immediately that they all carried particularly long spears and swords, with shields slung across their backs, their chain mail clinking noisily as they passed. What was most unnerving was the fact that crimson blood stained the points of some of these spears.

            So much for being friendly.

            But oddly enough, they didn't seem to notice our presence. I later determined that the Lorien cloaks had acted as a camouflage, hiding us from their gaze. It goes without saying that I was more than happy that they had more or less ignored us. In fact, I was elated that we wouldn't end up as some sort of human-dwarf-elf shish kabob, skewered on the ends of those ridiculously sharp spears.

            But Aragorn, Master Adventurer and First Class Dimwit, had other plans. They had nearly passed us, leaving nothing but the smell of horse and manure behind, when Aragorn stood up and called in a loud and clear voice:

            "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

            I came very close to hitting him over the head with the one frying pan we still carried.

            The riders inevitably heard Aragorn's cry, and with astounding dexterity they doubled back on their steeds and came charging back at us. At the last moment, they veered off slightly to the right and began circling around us at a rapid pace. My heart pounded in my chest, as this spinning circle of men and beasts was a little too close for comfort. I brushed a few flecks of dirt kicked up by the horses' hooves off my face and backed up nearer to my companions, grabbing on to the nearest friendly arm or sleeve.

            It was by pure luck that the sleeve I latched on to happened to belong to Legolas.

            _At least I'll die happy,_ I thought to myself as I watched the riders with wide eyes.

            Eventually they slowed to a stop, immediately raising their spears so they pointed directly at our throats. They only needed to extend them only so far before piercing our flesh. I tried to put on a brave face while my fingers firmly grasped the fabric of Legolas' shirt in a death grip.

            Their leader was easy to spot, not only because of how he stood apart from the crowd in a position of authority, but by the way he carried himself. This man appeared to be well practiced in battle, judging from the lines of battle scars that had made their mark on his youthful face. His light brown eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was stern, the discipline of the military masking his emotions. His wavy blonde hair was long and tangled by the wind—his beard and moustache in a similar condition, except coarser and shorter. A silver helmet rested upon his head, a pale horse's tale sprouting from the top and cascading down to mingle with his own darker hair. His eyes frightened me the most. They were brown, lacking any other coloring to make them interesting. But a fierce light sparked angrily back at my own coffee colored gaze, a light that demanded authority and respect, a light that possessed a passion for life and what he did. I knew that it would not be wise to tangle with this guy.

            But despite my prior observation of his evidently short temperament and the commanding glare that demanded immediate obedience and reverence to himself and his status…I did.

            "What business do two Elves, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he demanded immediately. "And one of them a she-Elf at that!" Anger boiled in my cheeks. I hated that term. _She-elf_. It made me sound like an animal on display or something.

            "That's _Miss_ she-Elf to you, buddy," I growled angrily.

            A flare of anger rose in his eyes. It was obvious that very few people spoke so rudely to him—either that or I was the only one stupid enough to try.

            "I suggest," he spat through clenched teeth, "that you mind your tongue, Lady, unless you are willing to pay a dear price for your rash words." A few men let out a malicious chuckle as I backed up further, clutching Legolas' sleeve tightly. I was truly frightened now, and it looked like my smart mouth had finally landed me in huge trouble.

            "Who are you and what are you doing in this land?" he continued after a moment, glaring at us from beneath his helmet. 

            "I am called Strider," Aragorn replied simply and calmly, despite the fact that our situation was looking hopelessly dire. "I came out of the North. I am hunting orcs."

            At this, the rider dismounted his horse quickly, landing heavily on the ground. He immediately drew his sword, surveying us with a keen eye, looking a little more than suspicious.

            "At first I thought you yourselves were orcs," he began after a long period of silence. If he had not already threatened me, I would have said something—calling someone an orc isn't necessarily very nice—and it wasn't like we all weren't _relatively_ clean. And when was the last time anyone saw an orc as short as Gimli? "But now I see that is not so." I would have made some sort of primitive grunt at that point to illustrate his intelligence, but common sense continued to restrain me. "Indeed you know little of orcs if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey if you had ever overtaken them." He paused for a moment to let that sink in and I could not help but feel grateful that we had been so slow. "But there is something strange about you Strider," he continued, looking at Aragorn with a mixed expression of suspicion and doubt. "That is no name for a man that you give. And strange too is your raiment…how did you escape our sight?"

            "Two of our Company are elvish folk," Aragorn replied calmly, as though being an elf explained the fact that we were able to evade their sight. Well, I guess it does, but not wholly. "Legolas from the Woodland realm in distant Mirkwood and Haley from…Massachusetts…" He pronounced it like some sort of exotic and foreign word, even though the man spoke God knows how many languages and could kick my butt in Sindarin any day of the week.

            "Oh, just say Rivendell…" I muttered. Aragorn nodded.

            "And Rivendell…" he added. "We have passed through Lothlorien and the gifts and the favor of the Lady go with us."

            The man's eye's widened at that point. "Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood as old tales tell!" he mused, thoughfully. "Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days!" He paused. "But if you have her favor, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe." I tried not to laugh as I pictured Gimli in the typical socerer's costume, complete with the pointy hat. And God knows what kind of disaster I would initiate if I ever tried to learn magic…

            The man looked at Legolas, Gimli, and I for a moment, before exclaiming:

            "Why do you not speak, silent ones?"

            "I don't know, Mr. Death Threat," I replied sarcastically. The look I received was enough to scare me into silence again.

            Gimli then took a step forward, planting his feet firmly on the ground, holding his axe in a somewhat defensive position, but subtle enough to not pose a visible threat.

            "Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine," he responded in his gruff tone, "and more besides."

            At this point, the leader of the riders dismounted quickly and strode toward Gimli. He stared down at him angrily.

            "As for that," he replied, his voice dangerously calm, "the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer, son of Éomund, and am called Third Marshal of Riddermark.

            "Then Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf, Glóin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak of evil of that which is fair beyond reach of your thought and only little wit can excuse that."

            I would have laughed, not only because Gimli had totally dissed Captain Pole Up My Ass, but also because of the expressions some of the soldiers wore. I don't think they expected someone of such small stature to have such an attitude.

            Éomer was not so amused.

            Let me put it this way. If it were humanly possible to emit smoke from one's ears, I'm certain this Éomer guy would have, judging from his murderous expression, the way his facial muscles clenched tightly in anger, and from the bulging vein in his forehead.

            I began to wonder if, at some point, he would spontaneously combust. The mental picture _was_ rather funny…

            "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood a little higher from the ground," he spat, raising his sword ever so slightly. The other riders seemed to take this as a cue, moving their spears ever so slightly closer to us. Gimli glared angrily, beginning to shift his axe in his hands, threateningly. 

            "He stands not alone," Legolas declared, removing himself from my grasp and fitting an arrow into his bow, his hands moving like lightening. "You would die before your stroke fell." My stomach flopped. I _really_, _really_, _really_ did not want to fight these men, especially since they out numbered us by one-hundred-and-one. I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword, just in case.

            But thankfully, Aragorn lived up to his role as our hero and jumped between Éomer and us, his hands raised in a gesture of apology.

            "Your pardon, Éomer!" he exclaimed. "When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse. Will you hear our tale before you strike?"

            Éomer paused for a moment, before lowering his blade. To my relief, the other soldiers lowered their spears as well—they had been making me quite nervous. "I will," he said. "But wanderers in the Riddermark would be wise to be less haughty in these days of doubt…" He looked at me briefly, as though the comment was intended for me in particular, which it probably was.

            I had expected a very long account of what we had been doing over the past several months or so, with all the details such as what color tunic someone had been wearing throughout Moria, the number of eggs Sam had for breakfast, and the total number of times Gimli and I had gotten into a fight. I'm assuming that last one was somewhere up in the thousand range…but we _had_ been doing better lately. Although, it may have been because I was too tired to be _incredibly_ sarcastic…

            "We track a band of Uruk-Hai, westward across the plain," Aragorn explained. "They have taken two of our friends captive."

            I stared in amazement. As I said before, I expected it to be much longer, with a good deal of pipe smoking by all the men.

            To my further surprise, Éomer seemed to accept this as a good explanation. I half-expected him to demand to know why we were so far south in the first place or if that was Gimli's real hair or some weird extensions.

            "You need not pursue them further," Éomer responded. "The orcs are destroyed."

            "And our friends?" asked Aragorn quickly. I could detect a little bit of worry in his voice.

            "We found nothing but orcs," Éomer replied, seeming unsympathetic. Questions circulated throughout my mind. 

_Where are Merry and Pippin? Did they escape? Are the riders lying? Did they die or escape long before here? They can't be dead…or…can they?_ The realization that we may have lost two other members of the broken Fellowship hit me like a bullet. My stomach knotted up and all the _lembas_ I had ever eaten seemed to batter at the walls of my stomach, and I felt like throwing up all over the Riders of Rohan.

Actually, the idea _was_ appealing, but I figured it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do to men who had spears that had previously been pointed at me. 

"Did you search the slain?" Aragorn inquired. "Were there no bodies other than those of orc-kind? They would be small, only children to your eyes, unshod, but clad in grey."

"There were no dwarves or children," replied Éomer. "We counted all the slain and despoiled, and then we piled the carcasses and burned them, as is our custom. The ashes are smoking still." He gestured to the plume of smoke on the horizon."Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken this land." He spoke those last words bitterly and angrily. My heart dropped and I began to feel sick.

Éomer suddenly whistled sharply and three rider-less horses obediently came forth, almost like a dog being called by its master. "Calatar, Hasufel, and Arod," he said, gesturing to each horse appropriately. "May they bear you well and to better fortunes than their late masters."

With that, they left us there, riding off across the grassy plain, leaving trampled grass, three horses and bad memories behind.

"So let me get this straight…" I began. "I have to ride some dead guy's horse?"

"If you'd like to put it that way," Aragorn replied. I looked at the horses nervously. I had ridden before—but those were the pony rides where you have to go at an annoyingly slow pace so that they were often overtaken by passing butterflies.

"I would sooner walk than sit on the back of a beast so great…" Gimli muttered. It was clear that he had never ridden before and intended on keeping it that way.

"Come, you shall sit behind me, friend Gimli," Legolas offered, lightly swinging himself on to the white-grey one they had called Arod. Gimli looked at the horse suspiciously before grudgingly agreeing. Needless to say, he needed some help getting up.

I looked at the black one they had called Calatar. He seemed gentle enough. I hesitantly extended my hand to touch his nose, jumping slightly as I felt his coarse, warm hair brush up against my fingers. I looked at him and was greeted with the warm, trusting, liquid eyes of an animal. I smiled slightly.

"Just don't buck me off," I murmured quietly. Calatar snorted in response, a snort that sounded suspiciously like the horse equivalent of a laugh. "And don't start getting sassy with me…" I warned. I stretched my leg up and with a lot of false starts, managed to hoist myself into the saddle. The leather creaked beneath me as I struggled to get comfortable. Calatar pawed the ground impatiently. "Hey, hey…just wait a minute." He snorted again. "I'm warning you…I've had about enough of your sass…"

We started up again and as I galloped across the plain, my already queasy stomach jolting uncomfortably with the new sensation, my hands gripping the reins so tightly that my knuckles were white, my entire being focusing on not falling off, and occasionally scolding Calabar, I thought to myself:

_Why the hell am I talking to a horse?_

A/N: THAT'S 8 PAGES!! Hee hee…can't scold me for not writing enough now. Important note: finals are the spawn of Satan and so is writing a Spanish study guide (which, I hope you know, I put off to finish up this chapter…hee hee). Argh. Finals are soon and I have to go study. 

Oh, by the way, the whole riders thing was a combo of the book and movie—the scene in the book was ridiculously long, but since the I don't have the script I had to combine them both.

**ADVERTISMENTS:**

I seriously recommend reading _Gimli Gets the Girl_ by Aranel Manveri. It's one of my favorites and it's ridiculously funny. I also recommend reading anything by Reikon, especially _Fancy_, _Oceans of Grey_ (sequel to _Fancy_), and _Saruman's Fan Mail Hour_.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Any real life events that are similar to the ones listed in the story are pure coincidence—hey wait a minute…these are _fictional_ characters…so that means I don't have to write this—_( starts babbling about disclaimers and all that stuff.)_

Aragorn: I wonder what she'll say when she realizes that dream she had about us coming to earth _wasn't_ a dream…

Frodo: Probably something along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL?"

Merry: How I love observing the antics of one who is constantly hyper.

Pippin: Hey! I cut back on my espressos…

Merry: I wasn't talking to you.

Pippin: Oh.

Saruman: Has anyone seen my curling iron?

A/N: Okay, I know. It's been forever since I updated. I'm really sorry about this, guys, but the last month or so has been crazy. I had to take and study for finals and that chewed lots of my time up. Then, when I finally finished finals, our Internet went all crazy and stuff and we had no connection for a week and a half. I've also been sick pretty often. And in these past couple of weeks I had a crap load of stuff going on and there was a huge formal winter dance thing, and that was taking up _so_ much of my time (I hate dress shopping). And then the dance really sucked. My date (I was set up) was about as exciting as a tree trunk. Anyhow, that is a sort of brief account of why I have been seemingly dead for the past month or so.

AHHHHH!!! I HAVE A SCRIPT!!!! YAY!!! Thank you SO much to Daphne and Little Ray of Moonlight who provided me with a source and Karylina, who suggested checking eBay (although my mother vetoed it…they didn't have copies…yet…*glares angrily at whoever owns eBay*) and also corrected a mistake I made about the horse's name. THANK YOU ALL SOOOOOO MUCH! Chocolate, gummy bears, and spinning pinwheel hats to you all! 

I've gotten several inquiries as to where I learned Sindarin. I actually don't know Sindarin—I have a book about Tolkien's languages and in there they have an Elvish-English dictionary. The book is called _The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth_ by Ruth S. Noel, and you can probably find it at Barnes and Noble or Borders.

Also, I wanted to briefly clarify something: last chapter, Haley may have seemed slightly out of character, due to her silence. I was trying to make her seem scared without directly saying anything—showing as opposed to telling. Anyhow, just wanted to make sure that was clear.

Romance: It's coming…possibly soon…I just don't want it to completely take over the plot. This story is both a romance and action/adventure, and I don't want the action part to just evaporate. My other reasons for keeping the romance gradual include (but are not limited to): a) I could possibly run out of ideas before the conclusion of the third book b) want to focus more on character development and not ruin what I've already got c) want it to be gradual because I didn't write this story to be a whole "love at first sight" thing, and d) future plot devices…

Chapter Twenty-Four

            Horseback riding makes one seriously miss public transportation.

            Well, maybe the schedules are unpredictable and often coded in some strange jargon that is only familiar to the operators of the vehicles, and maybe the utilities are often dirtied with centuries worth of discarded chewing gum and graffiti that oh so eloquently describes how much life sucks, often followed by an argument regarding the superiority of skaters to preps, or vice-versa. 

            However, my muscles never experienced such pain from the bus as they did from horseback riding.

            It may have helped if I had actually had some basic training before I left Rivendell, but I suppose Elrond didn't really consider it—or he figured that the Fellowship would need some entertainment along the way. Either way, my lack of experience certainly did not make the ride more pleasant. The unfamiliar jolting movement of the horse galloping across the plain was enough to frighten me into silence, each bump feeling like the one that would send me flying of the saddle and into a broken heap on the ground.

            And whoever said horseback riding was romantic obviously hasn't been around when the horse needs to make a pit stop…

            After galloping across a seemingly endless stretch of land, Calatar came to a complete stop. I had fallen into a daze, too terrified to really do anything but tightly grasp the reigns and put all my trust in the horse to keep me safe. Calatar whinnied softly, pawing at the ground impatiently, bringing me out of my trance-like state. I exhaled slowly, not even realizing that I had been holding my breath. I carefully removed myself from the saddle, swinging my feet down to the solid ground beneath me. Leaning against Calatar's heaving flanks for support, I steadied myself as a brief dizziness swept over my body as I tried to readjust myself to being on solid ground again. My stomach ached and I could faintly feel bitter bile rising at the very bottom of my throat. After a moment, I let go of the horse and looked ahead for the very first time.

            I was first assaulted with the stench of burning meat way past its prime. It mingled with the already revolting reek of the orcs, a combination so overpowering that it burned at not only my nostrils, but at my eyes and ears as well. 

            It smelled like death.

            The smell alone was intolerable, but the sight that awaited me was equally awful. The fire had managed to destroy a good portion of the corpses, reducing them to nothing but blackened bones and charred armor.  A skeleton leered at me hauntingly, an eerie grin plastered across its scorched and crumbling face. My stomach lurched painfully.

            _This was the fate of Merry and Pippin…_I thought to myself, fighting tears.

            Gimli began digging through the pile with amazing speed, casting aside broken swords and helmets. After a moment or so, he stopped, holding something gently in his gloved hands.

            "One of their little belts…" he murmured quietly after a moment, holding up a belt one of them had received from Galadriel. The fire had blackened the beautifully twisted gold and silver to a nearly unrecognizable mess, the gentle carvings of the Lorien elves barely visible. This simple token of the two jovial hobbits was enough to confirm what I prayed not to happen. They were dead. The small hope that had been flickering inside of me was abruptly replaced with the harsh realization that they were truly gone, scattered among the bones and armor that were piled before us. Tears burned in my eyes and my stomach ached as I stared at the smoking mess before me.

            Legolas bowed his head and closed his eyes, murmuring softly in elvish. Aragorn angrily kicked at a stray helmet, letting a cry of grief and anger escape his lips before he fell to his knees, his proud shoulders sagging.

            "We have failed them," Gimli said dejectedly, his voice laden with sadness and a bitter anger.

            I was going to say something at that point when my stomach pitched violently and an imminent feeling of nausea swept over me. I doubled over, clutching my abdomen, while at the same time trying to stagger away from Legolas and Gimli who were both dangerously close to me.

            In short, my plan didn't work so well. I threw up all over Legolas' shoulder before collapsing to the ground, retching. I'll spare the reader the details.

            When I had successfully thrown up all I had eaten for breakfast and lunch that day and ruined yet another sentimental moment, I knelt on the ground on the verge of sobbing. Not only was everything completely lost, but also I had just thrown up all over the place, including Legolas' shoulder. I fumbled in my tunic pocket for a handkerchief, wiping my off my mouth and furiously brushing at the tears that had begun to trickle down my cheeks. Someone grabbed a hold of my arm and hoisted me to my feet. I tried to control the tears that were beginning to well up in my eyes as I found myself staring into the all-too-familiar eyes of Legolas, who, despite all things, looked genuinely concerned.

            "I'm….really…sorry…" was all I managed to choke out without completely losing control.

            "Drink some water," he instructed, handing me my canteen. I sipped at the cool water, feeling humiliated and depressed as everything began to sink in.

            "If you ask me," Gimli began as I drank, "a good draught of Dwarven ale would fix her up right away." It took a lot of self-control, but I managed to not spit out my mouthful of water. I made a vow right then to never accept any medical advice from Gimli. I suspect that most of his remedies, from skin irritations to broken ankles, include a large consumption of Dwarven ale.

            "I'm really sorry," I offered again, after I finished my water. Legolas shrugged.

"Worse things have happened," he replied simply, with the hint of a smile.

            "A hobbit lay here," Aragorn said suddenly, peering intently at a patch of grass, seemingly unaware of my little adventure. "And the other…" he motioned to another area, inches away from the first one. "They crawled…" He began to follow a set of tracks that only his sharp eyes could discern from the bent and broken carpet of green. I trailed along after him with Legolas and Gimli. "Their hands were bound…" Aragorn bent to retrieve something from the grass. A frayed piece of dirty rope. "Their bonds were cut." At that moment, a small ray of hope began to glow inside of me. Maybe we still had a chance to save them and make things right again. Maybe. "They ran over here and were followed…" Aragorn nimbly strode beside the track the two hobbits had made, wearing a mixed expression of anticipation and relief. "Tracks lead away from battle and into…Fangorn Forest."

            I looked up at the forest that had been quietly watching us for the duration of our stay here. Now that we were closer to it, it seemed to loom threateningly over us, invisible eyes peering out of the darkness that lay beyond the trees. This forest was different from Lothlorien. Fangorn _lived_. The whole forest seemed to possess a consciousness, a mind of its own. The wind whispered ominously through the leaves and I thought I could hear faint snatches of conversation in an unfamiliar tongue. I shivered involuntarily.

            "Fangorn!" exclaimed Gimli. "What madness drove them there?"

*

            Well, I'm guessing it was the same madness that drove us there because several minutes later (this was after Legolas changed into a clean shirt), we were making our own journey to the heart of the forest.

            The air was oppressive inside the forest, bearing down on us from every direction. The silence that occupied the woods was enough to drive anyone insane, and it didn't help that we were often the ones to break the silence, earning disapproving whispers from the trees. Deep voices slithered through the air like snakes, poisonous venom dripping from each word. I shivered as one particularly disgruntled voice muttered something that seemed like a threat. 

            We followed tracks for a while—well, Aragorn and Gimli did most of the tracking and of course Legolas was making his extra-special elven analysis of the woods. I spent most of the time searching the foliage around me with a growing feeling of fear and paranoia, and actually apologizing out loud to the trees if I happened to trip on a lone root.

            "This forest is old," Legolas murmured after a while, his eyes scanning the vegetation slowly. "Very old. Full of memory…and _anger_." That last bit was certainly quite true, and the voices grew louder, as though they were confirming that observation. I could feel my shoulders tensing up as the voices ricocheted throughout the forest. "The trees are speaking to each other," Legolas continued. I stared uneasily at an ancient moss-covered oak that seemed particularly angry. Gimli had raised his axe slightly, his eyes shifting slightly.

            "Gimli!" Aragorn exclaimed after a moment.

            "Huh?" The dwarf started slightly at the sound of his name.

            "Lower your axe," Aragorn replied, motioning with his hands.

            "Oh…" Gimli looked at the trees, a fearful apology written on his face as he lowered his axe.

            "_Aragorn, ná edno en nas!_" Legolas said quietly. I managed to translate most of the sentence into "something is out there!" but I wasn't incredibly sure. He could have told him he smelled like a fish for all I know.

            "_Man cenich?_" Aragorn replied. This I knew meant, "what do you see?" as I had been drilled on similar phrases on several occasions. Legolas stared intently at the surrounding foliage, his keen gaze seeming to penetrate even the thickest of trees.

            "The White Wizard approaches," he whispered after a moment. My heart pounded in my ears. I had never seen Saruman, but I had heard enough about him to determine that he was evil and quite possibly crazy. I felt anger welling up in my chest as I recounted the events that had happened because of him. _He_ was the one who dumped all that snow on us at Caradhras. _He_ was the reason why we had to go through Moria. _He_ was the reason that both Gandalf and Boromir were dead. I swallowed and tried to control myself as mixed feelings of violent anger and fear ran through my veins.

            "Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us!" advised Aragorn, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword. My hand went to my own sword, my fingers gripping the hilt tightly. Gimli tightened his hold on his axe and Legolas held his quiver gently in his hands, ready to retrieve an arrow at less than a moment's notice.

            "We must be quick," Aragorn said quietly as we waited in the silence.

            Suddenly, as if we were responding to some silent cue, we all spun around, weapons withdrawn and ready to fight. A bright white light flashed in my eyes the second I spun around, blinding me completely. I blinked frantically, trying to regain my sight, stumbling slightly, only seeing an endless stream of pure white light. The hilt of my sword suddenly became hot in my hand before escalating to a temperature that made fire seem cool in comparison. I cried out as my skin blistered and dropped my sword, wincing as the handle landed painfully on my foot. I held my hand to my chest, blinking and rubbing at my eyes. I was certain that I was done for.

            "You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," a powerful voice said as I tried to regain my balance, expecting to be killed or imprisoned at any moment now. 

            "Where are they?" demanded Aragorn, his voice somewhere off to the left.

            "They passed this way, the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?" the voice asked.

            "No…" I replied, rubbing at my eyes.

            "Who are you? Show yourself!" demanded Aragorn.

            The light slowly began to dim and color began to slowly seep back into the world. I blinked a few times before my vision was restored. I looked up toward the direction of the voice, expecting to come face to face with the wizard who had been the cause of most of our problems. What I saw instead sent me to my knees in awe and tearful gratefulness.

            "It cannot be!" whispered Aragorn.

            For in front of me, clothed in white, a gentle light emanating all around him, his familiar gentle eyes radiating that grandfatherly kindness and immense power, stood Gandalf.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. And if you feel the need to sue me, I will gladly give up all my homework and tests…

Chapter Twenty-Five

            "You fell!" exclaimed Aragorn, almost like he was trying to convince himself that the wizard who stood in front of us was no more than an apparition, one of Fangorn's many tricks.

            "Through fire and water," Gandalf replied. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought the Balrog of Morgoth." Although he was not generous in description of this battle, clear pictures of his struggle drifted throughout my mind. Gandalf raising his glowing sword to deflect the fiery blows of the Balrog, the battle cries of both the wizard and the demon rising in the air as they fought for their lives. "Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." I could see the Balrog fall at last with a cry, defeated, as Gandalf, bruised and bleeding, collapsed on the ground, clearly exhausted. "Darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as the life age of the earth." Cosmic landscapes swooped all around, and I could not help but feel like I was in some sort of really bad science movie that my seventh grade teacher would force the class to watch every Thursday. "But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done." Feeling like I had been in a flashback, I looked up at the wizard with wonder.

            "Gandalf!" murmured Aragorn in awe.

            "Gandalf?" replied the wizard, seeming surprised at the use of his name. "Oh yes," he continued, "That is what they used to call me. _Gandalf the Grey_. That _was_ my name." I raised my eyebrows in confusion. If this wasn't Gandalf, who was he? His long lost twin brother?

            "Gandalf!" Gimli said, seeming slightly confused.

            "_I _am Gandalf _the White_," he replied, his eyes twinkling slightly. A relieved smile began to creep at the corners of my mouth and tears were brimming in my eyes. "And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide." He said this last part ominously, with determination riding in his kindly gaze.

            "Gandalf," I said after a moment. The wizard turned his eyes to mine. "I know you're all super powerful and all knowing now, but…" The tears of relief that I had managed to keep under control suddenly overflowed on to my cheeks and I stepped forward to hug him. "I really missed you," I choked out as tears flowed down my cheeks. Gandalf patted me gently on the back, like a grandfather would, and it took quite a bit of my self-control to not completely break down in happy sobs. It's so hard to describe exactly what I felt that day, other than I felt so incredibly happy and sad at the same time.

            "But next time you feel like getting new clothes, _please_ just go to a tailor or something instead of dying…" I said after a moment, pulling away. Gandalf's face broke out into a smile and he chuckled, patting me on the shoulder.

            "I did miss your humor, Haley," he replied.

            "She's not so funny after two days without sleep…" Gimli muttered under his breath.

            I settled on stealing his helmet as an act of revenge.

*

            We finally exited the forest, journeying once again into bright sunlight. The fact that our view was mainly of smoking corpses had escaped me for the moment. Fangorn was almost too much to bear and I had no desire to remain in there any longer than necessary.

            "One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed," Gandalf said once we were out in the open. He whistled sharply and the melody echoed across the plain. The answering whinny of a horse was heard soon afterward. This same horse soon came into view as it galloped across the plain. He was gorgeous. He ran gracefully, almost like a gazelle, his white coat flashing brilliantly in the sun. His tail trailed behind him like a flawless colorless ribbon floating on the breeze. 

            "That is one of the _mearas_, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas reported after a moment.

            "Shadowfax," Gandalf said gently, as the horse approached us. He stopped obediently in front of Gandalf, lowering his head to be petted. "He's the lord of all horses and has been my friend through many dangers."

            I quietly approached Calatar as everyone began the process of saddling up. I gently smoothed his mane as I attempted to get comfortable in the saddle, gently swatting a fly away from one of his shoulders.

            "Please don't throw me off," I whispered for the second time that day. His velvet ears twitched slightly and he whinnied softly, almost as if he had heard me. I gently nudged his sides, preparing myself again for another nerve-wracking ride across the plains.

*

            I'm not sure how long we rode—but it was long enough. I was slightly more relaxed than I had been on my previous ride, but riding was still not my most favorite activity.

            "Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf said as I pulled Calatar to a stop next to Aragorn. Edoras appeared to be a rather large fortress built upon a lone hill. "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown." Gandalf paused for a moment. "Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

            "Just what we need…" I muttered.

*

            About twenty minutes later we had entered Edoras. I reluctantly dismounted Calatar, feeling slightly uneasy. The guards that occupied the front entrance were less than friendly, and my best guess was that they were often deprived of female companionship, judging from the looks that some of them were giving me. I glared at the one closest to me, who averted his eyes immediately. I smirked and quickly followed after Gandalf and the others.

            We received mostly hostile looks as we journeyed across what I'd call a poor excuse for a courtyard. I made a point of making a few faces at those who seemed particularly disgruntled. Those individuals did not bother me after that.

            "You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli muttered. 

            A company of guards approached us as we climbed the stairs to what I assumed was the dwelling place of the king.

            "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame—by order of Grima Wormtongue," the head guard commanded. 

            _Grima Wormtongue?_ I thought to myself. _What kind of freak name is that?_

            To my surprise, Gandalf did not protest to their demands, but rather nodded for us to do so. I hesitantly removed my bow and quiver of arrows (which I never used anyway) from my back and handed it to one of the guards. I retrieved my hunting knife from where I had stashed it in my cloak and handed it over. Finally, I unbuckled my scabbard from my waist and reluctantly gave it to the guard.

            "Don't lose this. Don't steal it. Don't break it. Don't bend it. Don't scratch it. Don't even _touch_ it unless you're returning it to me…" I warned him as the sword left my hands. The guard nodded and moved noticeably further away from me. I held back a smile.

            Meanwhile, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn were all making a big show of disarming themselves, pulling knives and God knows what else out of their pockets, boots…after a while I began to lose track of everything.

            Once the guards had obtained every last piece of our weaponry—or at least as far as I knew—we prepared to enter the building…only to be stopped again.

            "Your staff," the guard said, gesturing to Gandalf.

            "Eh? Oh. No, you wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick?" Gandalf replied, stooping over with "age". It was hard not to smile, but I managed to keep a straight face. The guard rolled his eyes and waved us in. I followed closely behind Aragorn, feeling uneasy without the familiar weight of my sword at my hip.

            As I took my first steps into the hall, I noticed how much it smelled like Mrs. Thorpton's home. Mrs. Thorpton was an elderly woman of ninety-seven who lived next door to Aunt Kate. She had been practically bedridden for nearly six years, but absolutely refused to go to a nursing home. I was often sent over to bring her dinner when her caretaker couldn't make the trip over. I always thought her house smelled like mothballs and sour perfume and I'm guessing she hadn't aired it out since the Watergate scandal.

            This is exactly what the hall smelled like; only there was a faint trace of something foul lingering in the air and it was slightly smoky as well, which made my nose twitch. I made an effort to breathe through my mouth.

             At the very end of the hall there was a very large and ornate throne and upon it was seated a very shrunken and frail man, who I assumed was the king. This man literally looked about seven hundred years old. He sat wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe that looked at least as old as he was and I'm guessing it had never been washed. His face was a road map of wrinkles and lines, but from the way they pulled at the corners of his mouth and eyes and furrowed at his forehead, you could tell that they weren't caused by laughing, but from pain and worry. His wispy hair billowed out from his head in a white cloud, similar to Albert Einstein's, but slightly longer and very unkempt.  His beard was almost a yellowish color, caught between being a youthful brown and turning white with age. His skin was unnaturally pasty, like he hadn't seen sunlight in many years, and his hands rested on his lap, his fingernails grossly overgrown, cracking and yellowing with age. His eyes were his most striking feature. At one point they must have been a bright blue and as clear and sharps as a hawk's, but they now were clouded with age and his gaze was completely lifeless. The crown that sat on his head was more of a mockery rather than a symbol for his station. He looked no more capable of walking across the room much less ruling a country. It was one of the saddest things I have ever seen.

            "My Lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. An herald of woe," a voice said. I looked to the king's right and was assaulted with an image that bore a strange resemblance to Michael Jackson with a nose. This man who had spoken could have been no other than Grima Wormtongue—his repulsive name fit his appearance perfectly. His pale sweaty skin was unnaturally white—more so than the King's—and brownish circles dwelt under his black beady eyes while his colorless lips were frozen in a sneer. He had a head of dark wavy hair so greasy that it seemed to glisten in the light. He looked like a snake.

            "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf said in greeting, seeming to ignore Wormtongue's comments.

            "He is not welcome," Wormtongue whispered to the King.

            "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" the King wheezed. His voice might have once been strong and powerful, but it had weakened with age and disuse.

            "A just question, my liege," Wormtongue whispered to the King. He stood up and turned to face us.

            "_Late_ is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. _Lathspell_ I name him. Ill news is an ill guest." I frowned and opened my mouth, ready to give Wormtongue a good tongue-lashing and a bit of a lecture on general cleanliness.

            Fortunately (for my sake), Aragorn saw this and immediately clamped his hand over my mouth.

            "_Quiet_," he whispered in my ear, that familiar chastising tone creeping back into his voice. I sighed and nodded in submission and he removed his hand. I settled on glaring at Wormtongue instead.

            "Silence!" bellowed Gandalf. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" The wizard suddenly pulled his staff out from underneath his cloak and a look of astonishment swept over Grima's features.

            "Your staff…" He turned to the guards angrily. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

            The guards seem to take this as a command to attack and so they did, rushing toward us from all sides. My eyes widened. I should not have given them my hunting knife. Why on earth did I give them my hunting knife when I could have brought it in without them seeing it and actually be protected? Why did I have to be such an idiot and follow all the rules?

            So when one of the heavily armed men came charging at me, I did the only logical thing I could think of: I screamed and delivered the most powerful kick I could muster.

            Lucky for me, I got him where it _really_ hurts.

            Panicked, I tried to think of something I could do. I spotted another guard who was getting dangerously close to Aragorn. I sprinted as fast as I could and jumped onto his back, catching him completely off guard and causing him to emit a string of curses. This was probably not the smartest thing I could have done, but at that point, I was desperate. 

            "Théoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in shadows," Gandalf said approaching the King as I attempted to cover the guard's eyes. Gimli had Wormtongue pinned on the floor nearby. "Hearken to me! I will release you from the spell!" The guard staggered for a moment, nearly sending me flying. The laughter of the King was the response to Gandalf's exclamation.

            "You have no powers here, Gandalf the Grey!" he cackled in a voice that seemed not his own. The guard swung his sword back blindly. The blade came into contact with my shoulder and I let go, toppling backward on the floor. I struggled to get up, my shoulder smarting painfully.

            "I shall draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf said, standing tall. I had managed to stand up and get myself as far away from the guard as I could, sticking close to Aragorn, who probably knew a heck of a lot more about fighting without weapons against guys with weapons than I did. A blonde-haired woman rushed into the room and tried to run to the King. Aragorn caught her, cautioning her to wait.

            "If I go, Théoden dies," the King hissed. My eyes widened. This was getting a little scary.

            "You did not kill me, you will not kill him!" Gandalf bellowed, seeming to grow in height.

            "Rohan is mine!" This time the King's voice had changed. It was deeper and laced with evil.

            "**Be gone!**" 


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

Disclaimer: And with the strength of ten thousand tree frogs, Blue Kat climbed the mountain, and upon reaching the summit, raised her hands on high and proclaimed for all to hear:

"I…DON'T…OWN…ANYTHIIIING!"

And there was much rejoicing.

(This disclaimer was brought to you by reading too much Shakespeare for English and too much time with the Bible in Religion class.)

A/N: Sorry about that guys. This chapter has been ready since yesterday, but something went wrong with ff.net and my web documents were tracking my changes and I couldn't delete them (or Chapter 26 without deleting the entire story), so I basically had to rewrite the chapter into a new document. Sorry!

Woo hoo! I got flamed! My first flame…(sniff)…so special…my little ficlet is growing up. No seriously, I've never laughed so hard in my life. Flames really don't bother me—I write because I love to. It's not a question of whether everyone likes my work or not. To my anonymous flamer, thank you for making me laugh until I couldn't breathe. 

And in other news, I think I broke my toe again (ran into the bookcase this time) and I have an ear infection.

My great-aunt passed away on Friday, March 14, and if you could say a prayer or something for my family, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you.

Chapter Twenty-Six

What I saw next I would later describe as similar to an exorcism with the absence of projectile vomiting and spinning heads (thankfully). Théoden lunged forward with an unnatural amount of strength from one so weary with age. A menacing snarl escaped his withered lips while contempt burned in his eyes. Gandalf raised his staff and shoved it at the old man, forcing him back into his seat. There was a tremendous jolt of power that could only be described as electric as Gandalf stood above the King, his forehead creased in concentration as he cast his spell. Suddenly, everything stopped, and the room seemed to grow lighter, dissolving whatever evil had previously occupied the hall to nothing but empty air. Théoden slowly leaned forward on his throne in defeat, his thin frame seeming to strain as he drew a few shallow breaths. The woman Aragorn restrained earlier rushed to his side, her soft amber eyes reflecting worry and concern.

As the King slowly regained his balance, the age that had wreaked havoc on his appearance slowly began to melt away. The wrinkles that lined his forehead and collected at the corners of his eyes faded and smoothed into delicate lines, his grievous expression becoming a faint memory. His hair grew darker, shedding its ancient mask of white for a steely grey within moments. The hunched position his back and shoulders had taken slowly became less noticeable while his hands lost their claw-like appearance and regained their sturdy, powerful nature. And while all these transformations took place, life began to spark in his empty eyes and his gaze became less clouded as his ferocious blue eyes brightened, regaining that bite that had been lost for so long.

As he looked around the hall in awe and mild confusion, his gaze fell upon the young women kneeling at his side. His forehead crinkled in concentration as he looked at her face, seemingly attempting to recall a distant memory that had been lost for years. 

"I know your face," he said at last, his voice much stronger than it had been just moments before, but still rough from neglect. The woman's eyes flickered with hope, silently begging for just a sliver of recognition as he furrowed his brow in concentration. Suddenly, his features relaxed and a soft smile began to form upon his lips. "Éowyn…Éowyn…" he murmured, stroking her ivory cheek gently. The woman's (who I assumed was called Éowyn) face lit up at the sound of her name, crystal tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

Gandalf decided to make an entrance at that moment, thus interrupting the reunion between the King and Éowyn as he stepped forward, his eyes sparkling with happiness.  

"Gandalf?" Théoden asked, staring up at the wizard blearily.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf replied benevolently, smiling down at him. I was seriously thinking about saying something about the smell in the hall, but Aragorn was watching me like a hawk and it seemed like he wouldn't hesitate to pounce on me the moment I said something. I decided it was safer to keep my mouth shut for the time being.

"Dark my dreams have been of late," murmured Théoden rubbing his temples gently.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better…if they grasped your sword," Gandalf advised ominously. Théoden seemed to contemplate this as a guard came forward, carrying the weapon carefully. It was quite a piece of work, beautifully crafted of fine materials, but it had obviously been left unused for many years, gathering dust and tarnishing slightly at the edges. Théoden took the sword in his hand, fitting the metal in his callused palm. As he held the blade gently in the air, the color slowly returned to his face and the slight hunch in his back disappeared entirely. He seemed to glow with health and royalty.

_I need a sword like that…_ I thought to myself as I marveled at what would have most likely been hailed as a miracle in the 21st century.

Théoden looked around the hall confidently, appearing more kingly and valiant as his eyes flickered over his surroundings, his lips curved into a small half-smile.

Then his gaze fell upon Wormtongue.

*

The best part was when they threw him down the stairs.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" Wormtongue screeched pathetically, cowering on the ground.

"Your witchcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" spat Théoden angrily. Bitterness and hatred swarmed in his icy eyes, and it was evident that the true king in him had returned.

"Send me not from your side!" the leech begged. Théoden raised his sword. His face was filled with bloodlust and rage, and it was quite eivdent that his revenge would be in the death of Grima Wormtongue. My muscles tensed and my heartbeat quickened as his sword gleamed in the sunlight, ready for its deadly enterprise. Battle was familiar to me—something I had to accept in order to survive—and I knew that some goodness would come of my actions, considering the nature of my foes. But murder was different, and even though Wormtongue deserved such a fate, I knew that I couldn't witness it without being confronted by ghastly images later. 

"No, my lord!" exclaimed Aragorn suddenly, stepping forward just as I prepared to shut my eyes and cover my ears. Everyone seemed to relax slightly as Aragorn lived up to his role as hero. "Enough blood has been spilled on his account." I exhaled softly as my muscles relaxed, knowing that Aragorn had a very valid point that even a king (even one completely set on going on a Lizzie Borden trip) could not ignore.

Even if Théoden had decided to kill Grima right then and there, despite Aragorn's protest, the act would have had to been postponed, as Wormtongue took advantage of the King's distraction and bolted.

"Get out of my way!" he shouted, running blindly through the crowd.

"And take a shower! Just because you're evil doesn't excuse you from bathing!" I shouted after him as he rode off on a dark horse. Many eyes turned on me, most showing signs of mild confusion and annoyance. Aragorn gave me a look that seemed to say that whacking _me_ over the head with Théoden's sword might not be such a bad idea. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli didn't look too surprised, but then again, they'd had over three months of non-stop me. I suppose Aragorn felt most responsible for my actions.

"Hail, Théoden, King!" Aragorn shouted quickly after my outburst, either out of respect for the King or for a diversion. I'm guessing the latter. Either way, it seemed to work, as everyone kneeled in response (of course, I had no idea what was going on, so I was one of the last people to kneel down. Why they couldn't salute him instead was beyond me).

"Where is Théodred?" Théoden asked immediately after we had all risen. "Where is my son?"

There was a hush as Théoden looked around, an expectant half-smile on his lips. His smile turned to one of confusion after a moment complete silence. I looked at the somber faces in the crowd. Something had happened.

Éowyn finally stepped forward and took Théoden's hand in hers.

"Your son is dead, my lord," she said slowly and quietly, a lone tear running down her cheek.

The pain-filled cry that had escaped his lips once he heard the news was enough to break my heart. I wasn't used to seeing a grown man cry, let alone weep so copiously. His proud form seemed to crumple as he slowly sank down, making the next few moments completely chaotic as guards rushed to attend the grieving King. I looked down at my feet, trying to show respect. 

I was roughly jolted aside a few minutes later as a throng of guards led the King back into the hall. Gandalf, being the important wizard that he is was included in this crowd, supporting Théoden's weeping form, leaving me, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn to fend for ourselves. I stood dumbstruck with the others on the steps, feeling helpless and confused.

"You—you must be weary from travel," Éowyn said finally from where she had quietly been standing, seemingly forgotten by Théoden and his attendants for the time being. She discreetly wiped tears from her cheek before continuing. "I shall see to it that you are attended upon." She stood up straight, her petite figure suddenly seeming powerful, and pasted an unreadable expression upon her delicate features. She lightly ascended the steps, her white gown flowing gently behind her.

As I followed her with the others, I was able to observe her more closely. Long honey-colored hair hung in soft waves down her back, beautifully kept, shining softly in the light. Her face was round, glowing with a soft feminine warmth, gentleness, and compassion. Yet the way she carried herself seemed contradictory to the cherubic nature of her expression—her back was straight, her head held high, quietly demanding the respect of others. There was a subtle streak of independence glinting in her eyes that went beyond her pretty face and seemingly docile manner. She was not, I concluded, simply a pretty princess. Éowyn had her own hidden agenda and I was sure it would be quite awhile before I caught onto it.

She led us past the hall and through several corridors before coming to what I assumed was close to the servants' quarters. 

"Celia," she said to a grey-haired matron descending a staircase with an empty laundry basket resting against her hip. "Please escort this young lady to the south bedroom, and have a bath drawn for her." Éowyn gently tugged on my sleeve as an invitation to come forward. "See to it that she's cleaned up in time for supper."

"Yes, my lady," Celia replied curtsying awkwardly, the wicker basket knocking against the wall. Éowyn nodded and led the others off down another hall, leaving me standing stupidly at the foot of the stairs. "This way, m'lady," Celia instructed gently, rousing me from the reflection I had unintentionally stumbled into. I shook my head lightly and sprinted up the stairs after her.

Celia led me through several corridors before finally reaching the aforementioned south bedroom. Its large mahogany door opened to reveal a rather simple room that was slightly rustic in description. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood and very simple in both design and shape. Glorious battles were depicted in worn and frayed tapestries that hung upon several of the walls, in addition to a spectacular hunt illustrated on the faded rug in the center of the room. The makers of these pieces seemed particularly inspired by the gore of these activities, judging from the amount of enemies that had very large spears protruding from their chests. I was particularly disturbed by the wild boar that one of the huntsmen had skewered on the end of his spear. I made a mental note to hide that particular image under a pillow before I went to bed.

"Have a seat," Celia said, motioning to the various chairs littered around the room. "I'll only be a minute." I gracelessly sat down on the wooden chair at the vanity and proceeded to check my appearance in the mirror as Celia disappeared into the bathroom.

My eyes widened considerably as I gazed upon my reflection for the first time in about a week.

I was a mess.

My hair was incredibly tangled and frizzed from being constantly tormented by the wind, the sloppy ponytail that I had constructed bearing an uncanny resemblance to a rat's nest. I hadn't had a decent shampoo since we left Lothlorien, and my hair was looking incredibly dirty in addition to the numerous tangles and snarls. Dirt and sweat had left their mark on my forehead and cheeks, along with bruises and scratches from God-knows-what-battle. To top it all off, I was quite pale and dark circles were beginning to develop beneath my eyes. I looked down at my hands. Dirt had crept into the lines in my palms and fingers, and burrowed underneath my fingernails. I had developed a few calluses on my palms, most likely from sword handling. I gazed back into the mirror, shaking my head slightly.

"My God…" A member of the Fellowship is supposed to look all hero-like and indestructible, even after spending weeks in the wilderness. _I_ looked like I had been run over by a cement truck.

"You're bath is ready, m'lady," Celia said startling me. "I'll be back up in about a quarter of an hour to help you dress. Is there anything else you request?"

I thought for a moment.

"Do you have a razor?"

*

It took at least fifteen minutes of intense scrubbing and quintuple shampoo, but I eventually rid myself of all the dirt and grime that had accumulated on my body and hair for the past week or so. I was particularly happy about the clean state of my fingernails. I had even managed to find a file and nail clippers in the bathroom (my own file had mysteriously disappeared in Moria. I suspect that Legolas took it because his nails have remained impeccably (and suspiciously) clean and perfectly shaped throughout this whole ordeal).

But by far the best part was that my legs no longer resembled Bigfoot's (I had managed to keep my underarms relatively hairless with the help of the manicure scissors I had smuggled from Rivendell). 

However, I think my unusual request slightly unnerved Celia.

I emerged from my bath completely clean and fresh, leaving quite a bit of dirty water in the bathtub, in addition to a ring of dirt. I silently hoped that Théoden's servants had some kind of cleaning detergent. I wouldn't want to be held responsible for destroying the royal bathtub.

I re-entered my room wrapped in a bathrobe to find Celia and a young dark-haired maid waiting at my vanity.

_Jeez…I'm such a mess she had to call for backup…_ I thought to myself as I greeted the two. _That's really depressing…_

I was instructed to sit down at the vanity and they immediately began the task of brushing my hair. The use of the word 'task' is not meant to be taken lightly here. My hair, even after being washed quite thoroughly, looked like someone had tied knots in it. It took them quite awhile to get my hair completely snarl-free, with quite a lot of disapproving clucks from Celia and lots of screeches of pain from me. 

"_Tsk, tsk,_" Celia scolded, picking up a strand of my hair once they had finished. The other girl was collecting the loose hairs the combs had picked up and consequently creating a hairball that would roughly be the size of a small cat.

"What?" I questioned, anticipating a lecture on grooming. _Save it for Gimli_, I thought silently.

"Look at these ends!" she exclaimed, fussing over my hair. I carefully examined a lock of hair. It was quite true. I hadn't had a haircut in well over six months and I had quite a lot of split ends. "We'll have to take off at least an inch."

"Oh no, no, _no_…" I replied once that had sunk in, pressing my hands protectively over my scalp. "My hair is fine." I really didn't have a problem with getting my hair cut—by licensed beauticians who happen to have a subscription to _Seventeen_. No one comes near my hair with scissors otherwise. Tommy Preston learned that the hard way when he "accidentally-on-purpose" cut off a chunk of my hair in first grade art class. I made sure his recesses were a living hell for two weeks.

*

I learned something very important this particular day: never _ever_ tell a woman who's old enough to be your grandmother that she can't do something.

Celia delivered a lecture that can be accurately described as a sermon, occasionally throwing in a "m'lady" for courtesy's sake. There were plenty of people, she told me, whose hair was left uncared for, and that I should be grateful to have such beautiful, long, thick hair and that I should appreciate…no, _value_ this opportunity to clean it up.

I hate it when people succeed at manipulating me.

So for twenty minutes, I sat with my eyes shut and gritting my teeth as Celia snipped away at my tresses.

_Please, please, please let it be okay and not really ugly and bad and…_I thought to myself, gripping the seat of the chair in attempt to contain the urge to run screaming out of the room.

"_Mistress…_" Celia's voice suddenly broke through my train of thought, her tone suggesting that she had repeated this more than once. I tentatively opened my left eye.

"Yes?" I squeaked.

"I'm finished," she replied, giving me a look that seemed to subtly imply that I was overreacting. I wasn't overreacting, I reasoned with myself. I just didn't want to end up bald.

I opened the other eye and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked a whole lot better—healthier…and evenly cut, thank God. It didn't even look like she had taken off that much. The clippings on the floor confirmed my suspicion and I immediately felt like an idiot for putting up such a fuss. 

But then again, I was pretty used to making a fool of myself, so it shouldn't have come as a big surprise.

"It looks great," I said finally, gently tugging at a strand. 

"Thank you, my lady," Celia replied, looking just a little smug.

After I had admired my hair for a sufficient amount of time, they both began fussing over my hair and—if you can believe it—makeup, instructing me to close my eyes or move slightly when necessary.

After what seemed like a millennia of primping and brushing, they wheeled me around in the chair, not permitting me to look in the mirror.

"You'll get the full effect with a proper dress," Celia said, digging through a large oak wardrobe. 

"A dress—what the hell is this, Middle-earth's Big Prom or something?" I asked. At this point, I just wanted a nice clean pair of pants and a fresh shirt. Celia simply chuckled good-naturedly in reply. I blew a stray piece of hair out of my face irritably.

"Ah, yes!" Celia exclaimed a moment later from the depths of the wardrobe. She reappeared with lengths of red fabric cradled in her arms like an overflowing bouquet. She ceremoniously laid the dress out on the bed and motioned for me to come closer. "What do you think?" she asked as I fiddled with the soft red fabric of the skirt. As much as I hated to admit, I liked it. It was made of two overlapping fabrics—a dark red velvet edged with gold embroidery and a material of a slightly lighter red with gold filament stitched in a pattern of twining vines. Most of the dress was made of the velvet, which made up the whole back of the dress along with the sleeves. The velvet ended near the middle, overlapping the lighter material slightly to give the illusion that one was wearing a velvet robe over a dress of the lighter material. The sleeves looked like they would fall at my wrists, the neck was squarely cut, and the skirt looked like it would barely reach the floor.

"It's nice," I said after a moment, attempting to appear nonchalant. Celia was not fooled by my little performance and smirked triumphantly. I sighed as they began to prepare to dress me.

*

You know, you'd think that seamstresses would try to make their dresses a little less complicated.

I mean, it's bad enough that there's no such thing as zippers and buttons are considered incredibly modern, but does there really have to be at least twelve different pieces of undergarments? And do they all have to be laced and/or secured with frilly ribbons?

I contemplated asking just how the hell you were supposed to go to the bathroom with all this stuff on, but I decided that I didn't want to see how much I could stretch Celia's patience, especially after her previous lecture.

After they forced my feet into ridiculous shoes that had just barely enough leather on the bottom to keep them from being slippers, I was instructed to close my eyes while they led me to the mirror so I would be adequately surprised. I consented in interest of avoiding another lecture.

"Alright, open your eyes," Celia instructed once she let go of my hands. 

I opened my eyes expecting to be slightly disappointed. But the reflection that stared back at me looked…_nice_. They had left my hair down, combing and brushing it until it hung smoothly, glowing softly in the light. They had put on little make-up, hiding the circles underneath my eyes and bringing color back into my cheeks with rouge (sparingly used, thankfully. I didn't really want to look like Bozo). They had done something to my eyes—I never was particularly good at eye makeup and I never really bothered with it—with shadow and kohl, which wasn't overly done (again, thankfully) and it looked pretty natural. A soft rose-colored lipstick had been used on my lips, toned down with the help of a handkerchief. The dress fit nicely, and the color looked good—Celia had commented that it brought out my hair (I'm not sure what she was talking about, so I just smiled and nodded).

"Wow…I…I really don't know what to say…" I said smiling as the necklace Galadriel had given me winked at me in the light. "I…"

And then I did something I vowed I would never do.

I randomly burst out into song.

And the thing is I _really _can't sing and I really don't like to. Some people will say they can't sing, but actually sound half decent when they make an attempt at "Row, Row Your Boat" or something. I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Aunt Kate used to say I had a "feline falsetto", meaning that I sounded like something between a disgruntled cat with the ability to venture into octaves only familiar to Chip and Dale. So naturally, out of general respect for the public, I really tried to avoid any kind of musical activities involving my voice. 

But that night I must have been pretty giddy because I abandoned all of my rules about my voice and burst out into song complete with minor dance steps.

"_I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and BRIIIIIIIIGHT! And I pit-ty any girl who isn't me tooo-night!_" I (literally) wailed. Celia raised an eyebrow and the other girl looked slightly frightened. Despite this, I continued. "_I feel charming, oh so charming! It's alarming how charming I FEEEEEEEEEEEL! And so pretty that I hardly can believe I'm reeeeeeeeeal_."

I would have continued, but I knocked over a chair when I attempted to kick like one of the Rockettes (Aunt Kate probably made a mistake in taking me to see this when I was six…I nearly destroyed several pieces of furniture as result of my inspiration to one day be in the show).

A/N: I hope this last part didn't seem cliché. It wasn't supposed to be a whole makeover thing. More of like general maintenance…

Okay, this was supposed to be up _way_ sooner, but I've been sick for all of last week with ANOTHER ear infection (when I wrote the previous a/n, I had a different ear infection) and cold stuff. Anyhow, I also had to clean my room, which was getting _really_ bad. I half-expected to find a family of rabbits under my bed. So now that I'm slightly mobile and my room is clean, I can post.

The plot bunnies will NOT leave me alone!!! This is what happens when I watch _Lord of the Rings_ (extended version) and _Newsies_ (two and a half times, back to back. I would have watched more, but it was midnight and my mom figured out that I wasn't in bed) in one day. 

Tip for the day: Ask telemarketers to be your friend. Results are hilarious.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Disclaimer: Can cheese dance? No. When it does, let me know because then I'll own LOTR.

A/N: Not much to say…hmm. Oh yes, Happy Easter to those who celebrate it. And the little girl's name…one site said it was Freda…the other said Freya. I'm going to use Freya. It sounds Tolkien-like…

This chapter has taken so long due to school. But there's only seventeen days left!!

Okay I got some questions/corrections in some reviews and I'm going to answer them now…several people have inquired about Haley's need to sleep. She does sleep more than the average elf, but I attribute most of that to habit and her circadian rhythm. She doesn't sleep heavily either—more of like a really light doze. I hope that makes sense. If I'm violating major Tolkien laws, let me know. There are so many contradicting theories about elven sleep it's hard to keep them straight. Sidereus Phoenix also asked why Haley's hearing and eyesight seems inferior to Legolas'. I think as a general rule, Haley is pretty oblivious, and just doesn't notice some things. Legolas is more patient and observant—and he is also more familiar with his abilities in those areas. I hope that answers your question.

Also, Éowyn of Ithilien corrected a mistake I made in Chapter Twenty-Four. I'm really not a horse person—I've always wanted to ride, but I've already got too much stuff going on—so I know diddely squat about horses. Éowyn of Ithilien informed me: "Your character leans on the horse's flanks. This is suicide. The flanks are the horse's ticklish part and would drive the horse to kicking, shoving, biting, etc." Oops. Thank you for pointing that out—I'm going to correct it ASAP, but I gotta write this chapter fast. Thank you for preventing the near death of my main character. _That_ would have been interesting:

Aragorn: Fool! Didn't she know not to do that? Now the readers will NEVER know about the romance.

Legolas: That's what happens when you let authors like Blue Kat near a computer.

Gimli: Yay! No more sarcasm!

Thank you all. I appreciate your questions and feedback. You guys have been wonderful…I'm going to do a Reviewer Appreciation thing in the next chapter or so.

Hint: Helm's Deep: very, very, very significant developments…("Love is in the Air" starts playing)…well, that should be enough of a hint…

Chapter Twenty-Seven

            Five minutes later, Celia was escorting me down to dinner, which was presumably with the King, as she was muttering non-stop about etiquette. For example, I was absolutely _forbidden_ to pick my teeth with a knife at the table (presumably punishable by death). Upon inquiring if I was also discouraged from scratching my underarms with the fork, I was told to stop being fresh—sarcasm does _not_ become a lady. I remarked that I must be pretty hideous then, but Celia simply rolled her eyes heavenward and said that if I wasn't a guest, she'd give me a good slap upside the head.

            She also advised (in interest of preventing some sort of civil war, no doubt,) that I not sing at the table.

            We eventually came to the entrance of the hall where Celia quickly smoothed my hair and gave me some last minute instructions, including how to politely conceal a sneeze, the correct way to address the king, and a reminder to not to spill on my dress.

            "…and _behave_…" she warned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. If she had just a little bit more of an accent, she would have sounded like Austin Powers. I desperately tried to hold back a grin, but failed. Celia didn't look too surprised.

            "I don't even _want_ to know what you find so amusing," she said, opening the door for me. I grinned in response. "Now get along before I take the belt to you," she commanded, nudging me out the door. I grinned happily and stepped over the threshold, throwing a few words of thanks over my shoulder.

            A dark wooden table and several long benches had been set up close to the throne. Gandalf had not yet made his entrance, but Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were all seated at the table. They all looked as though they had a bath and a fresh change of clothes and for that I was extremely grateful. Traveling without bathing is a smelly process—more so when your company is made entirely up of men.

            "Hello," I greeted cheerfully, plunking down beside Aragorn.

            "Haley!" Aragorn replied, glancing up in surprise, looking wide-eyed at my fine attire and clean hair. Naturally, I rolled my eyes at the evident surprise on Aragorn's face. It was like he hadn't seen me clean in weeks. 

            Wait, he _hadn't_. Well, he still looked…shocked…

            "Yes Aragorn, it's a dress. Sometimes girls wear them. If you haven't forgotten already, I am a girl," I replied sarcastically. "It's quite a difficult concept."

            "Well you look very different. But in a good way! Not that you—" Aragorn began, looking slightly flustered for a change and seeming to ignore the fact that I had insulted him (or maybe he just didn't pick up on it). Aragorn the courtier—_this_ was quite an interesting development. The transition, as one can imagine, was not exactly smooth, despite the fact that he _is_ supposed to be this big, macho, manly ranger/king/hero guy. This was another one of those moments where I desperately wished I had a video camera.

            "You look very nice, Haley," Legolas interjected, most likely in an attempt to save Aragorn's ass. Despite that reoccurring thought, fire burned in my cheeks as I desperately fought to remain expressionless. I attempted to brush it off with a laugh.

            "I'll take you off my hit list, Legolas," I replied, pasting a forced smile upon my lips. It appeared to be convincing enough, as Legolas smiled and Aragorn mumbled thanks, the slightest hints of relief reflecting in his eyes.

            But Gimli looked at me suspiciously for a moment, his beady little eyes overly inquisitive, searching my expression for some sign only visible to him. I thought about interrogating him later, but shook the thought away and attempted to direct the conversation toward something neutral, like the weather.

            _"Do not use wit to shield you…"_ Galadriel's voice echoed throughout my mind. 

            _What the—how could she have this kind of range?_ I asked myself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable as I commented on the distribution of clouds in the sky. It was like the Verizon Wireless guy that walks around and asks: "Can you hear me? Good!" was stalking me. Only it was a female elf that had the ability to read minds and discover your infatuations with certain individuals that exceeded beyond common congeniality. However, the reply to my questions of "Why won't you leave me alone?" was an irritating silence. 

_Then again,_ I continued, _maybe I have to pay a visit to the room with the padded walls…_

            Whoever made telepathy possible in Middle-earth needs to be whapped soundly over the head with a baseball bat. It is a serious threat to one's sanity.

*

            Éowyn entered the room several minutes later, her white dress replaced by a longer one of a reddish color and her long hair wound about her head in braids. Two young children followed timidly. The first, a brown-haired girl, looked to be no more than seven, her face smudged with dirt and her dark wide eyes darting frantically about the room. Her small hand tightly clutched the hand of the other, a boy, presumably her brother. He looked to be eleven, but the quiet light that reflected in his eyes made him seem older, as if he had already borne the troubles of an adult. It made me wonder if he had gone through one of those big rites of passage that my ninth grade English teacher constantly rambled on about when we read _The Odyssey_.

            "Good evening," Éowyn greeted smiling warmly, seemingly to mask the worry that clouded her eyes. "I trust you received good care." Aragorn nodded in response and Éowyn smiled softly. "Good. This is Freya and Eothain," she replied, gesturing to each child in turn. "They will be joining us for supper tonight." There was something about her voice and the overly friendly nature of her conversation that seemed to indicate that these two children had not just dropped in for the hell of it—there was something wrong. "Freya, Eothain, this is Lord Aragorn, Prince Legolas, Master Gimli, and…" She looked at me expectantly.

            "Eh, it's just Haley. Nothing fancy," I replied shrugging, flushing slightly for my lack of prestige.

            "Miss Haley, then," replied Éowyn, her manners getting the better of her. Freya and Eothain nodded quietly in recognition. Pity washed through my veins. They looked so forlorn, and me being an avid babysitter, I felt I couldn't let the problem go uncorrected.

            "Freya?" The little girl looked up at me quietly at the sound of her name. "Do you want to come sit with me? I can braid your hair…" A flicker of interest sparked in her eyes as result of the cherished invitation to come hang out with a big girl. She looked up at Éowyn, who gently nudged her forward. She sat down next to me on the bench and turned slightly so her back was facing me. 

"I have some things to attend to, but I shall return shortly," Éowyn said as I began to work the tangles out of Freya's hair. Her little forehead wrinkled in worry. "Miss Haley will take good care of you," Éowyn reassured, offering a warm smile. Freya nodded slowly, her wide eyes similar to that of a deer caught in the headlights. I gently patted her shoulder.

            "Would you like to see an elven blade?" asked Aragorn, directing his question at Eothain. The boy nodded and Aragorn withdrew a small knife from a sheath that was still attached to his waist. The boy inspected it with wonder, tracing his fingers along the runes etched into the blade. 

            "He got it off a man in Reno. Killed a man just to see him die," I said as Aragorn began explaining the meaning of the runes. Aragorn looked at me irritably, but Eothain seemed interested—his face had an expression that clearly said "Whoa…" (complete with surfer dude accent).

            "I don't know where this 'Reno' is, but I certainly never killed a man to watch him die, as you suggest," Aragorn replied, giving one of his infamous looks. Eothain looked slightly disappointed—I suspect a medieval mafia career was quite rare. 

            "You need to lighten up, 'Gorny," I responded, gently working out a particularly unruly snarl of hair.

            "_'Gorny_…" Aragorn replied, looking slightly disturbed.

            "Catchy isn't it?" I couldn't help but grin. 

            "That's not what I meant…" 

            "Oh you know you love it…"

            "This is the most preposterous piece of nonsense I've ever heard!" Gimli interjected, his eyebrows furrowed at my display of silliness (which I suspect violates some sort of Dwarven Code of Conduct).

            "Oh, you're just jealous, Gimlet," I replied, gathering Freya's hair in a ponytail, smoothing out the bumps. Her hair was neither thin nor thick, seeming to reach the median between the two.

            "_WHAT_?!" demanded Gimli, his expression an amusing combination of disgust and anger. I separated a section of hair from Freya's dark locks, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips.

            "You're right. Gim-Gim the Gumdrop fits your personality better. It just screams 'Gimli'…"

            "I'll show you screaming—" Gimli's rant was interrupted by Aragorn clearing his throat loudly. Gimli took this oh-so-subtle hint and began muttering to himself in Dwarvish. Judging from the expression on his face, I would be going to Dwarf Hell if he had his way about things.

            "There is no need for foul words, Master Dwarf…" Aragorn reprimanded. Gimli glared at him for a second before emitting a loud "Harrumph!" and gesturing to Legolas.

            "Give the Elf some idiotic name!" he grumbled in surrender. 

            "Lassie already has a nickname, and it is not 'the Elf,'" I informed him, gathering another strand of hair into Freya's braid. A loud and full-bellied laugh echoed throughout the hall as Gimli rejoiced in Legolas' misfortune. I believe that this was the first time I had ever seen Gimli laugh and I had a feeling that his current behavior was similar only under the influence of alcohol.

            After a moment or two, the Dwarf was able to compose himself and reach a nearly sane state. Legolas gave me a look that clearly questioned my sanity as Gimli tried to regain his breath.

            "A suitable name for a prince," he declared, clapping Legolas on the shoulder.

            "I agree, Gimlet," Legolas replied seriously. I laughed at the expression on both of their faces and retreated back to my braiding.

            "Give _her_ a name!" Eothain suggested timidly, with a slightly impish grin upon his lips. Freya allowed herself a quick giggle before lapsing into her shy silence again. A slow grin crept onto Aragorn's face and Gimli looked like he had just won the lottery. Legolas smirked slightly and gave me a knowing look.

            "You, my lad," Gimli said to Eothain, giving him a look of approval, "are very clever for your age."

            "Silence is golden," I said in reply.

            "You must be in trouble," Aragorn replied. I stuck my tongue out in response.

            Thankfully, my name isn't easy to twist into something bizarre. It took them nearly ten minutes to come up with a sufficiently embarrassing name for me, which was…Duck. I have absolutely no idea where they came up with it—Gimli insisted it was because I sounded like a duck and that people should duck when they see me coming, but I think they chose it because it was stupid and random. When I was officially christened as "Duck," Éowyn had returned from her errand with Théoden and Gandalf close behind.

            Because Théoden and Gandalf were both _so_ special, they got to sit at the throne (well Gandalf sat on the chair next to it) while everyone else was forced to sit on hard wooden benches, from which I acquired several splinters. As soon as the Fantastic Two sat down on their special chairs with special little tables that special little footmen brought up, servants suddenly materialized out of the walls bearing enormous platters and various other table settings. A mug of frothy ale was set down in front of me, along with a cloth napkin, a fork, and a knife.

            "Uh, excuse me?" About twenty heads swiveled in my direction and said, "Yes m'lady?" all at different times. "I…uh…don't," I began in the silence that followed, slightly uncomfortable with all the eyes turned upon me, "I…could I just have some…coffee or something?" I asked, pointing at my mug. There was a chorus of "Right away," and a pair of hands lifted the offending mug from my place setting and everyone went on with his or her business. I flushed and hastily stuffed my napkin onto my lap.

            Minutes later my ale had been replaced with a steaming mug of coffee and the soup had been set out. I identified a few limp looking vegetables among the hunks of meat in the dark broth. It looked edible—just not very good.

            "Legolas," I whispered as softly as I could manage. He looked up expectantly. 

            "Yes?" he inquired quietly.

            "I miss elf food," I replied. He smiled softly and went back to his soup.

            Dinner passed uneventfully. The courses were set out, people talked amongst themselves, and I attempted to subtly dissect my food, removing bones, gristle, and all that other fun stuff you find in unprocessed meat. Legolas thought my antics were funny. I suspect _his_ portion of turkey didn't have any suspicious little lumps. If I could have gotten away with flinging a slice of potato at him, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

            Freya and Eothain ate silently and slowly and were still picking at their dinner when the servants cleared our plates. I received a fresh cup of coffee and the mugs of ale were all generously replenished—for which I was worried because Gimli had consumed nearly one and a half mugs already and was looking slightly tipsy.

            I soon realized that this point at dinner could be effectively titled as "Everyone Talks and Argues a Lot and the Vein in Gandalf's Forehead Starts to Bulge When Théoden Says Something Stupid." My roll in this conversation was virtually nothing except sit, pretend to look interested, drink large amounts of coffee to prevent me from going completely insane, and make faces at Legolas when no one is looking (the aforementioned elf did not find this very amusing). As far as I could tell, a town had been raided by some psycho wildmen that Saruman had recruited to wreak even _more_ havoc on Middle-earth because he's an evil wizard and he said so (or something like that). Of course, they (meaning those present in the room) had to artfully dodge around the decision at hand, which was: do we toughen up and go kick some bad-wizard ass or sit in Edoras like frightened bunnies? Gandalf would persist that we needed to attack Saruman because he's evil and destructive (bear in mind that this is _my_ summary of his complex speeches) and Aragorn would agree and say our time has come to beat the crap out of that loser. And sometimes Éowyn would say something like "But we must save the environment!" and Gimli would counter with his ever popular "Let's hack 'em all into tiny bits and feed them to Haley!" (I'm exaggerating, but it was something heinous like that). Legolas would observe and occasionally give a one-worded response or perhaps an insightful comment about evil in general. Then Théoden would say something like "But war is scary and what about the people of…" and suddenly, they're discussing the political issues at hand while Gimli continues to insist that we just go into Orthanc, beat up Saruman, and steal his ale (or at least, I think that was his point). 

            It was _so_ hard not to go bang my head against the wall repeatedly.

            A very long time later (I'm not sure how long it was), Éowyn had somehow managed to direct the conversation back to the main point. How she did that, I'm not sure, but I suddenly found myself assaulted with conversation that had a point and I was forced to stop counting how many sips of ale Gimli had consumed in the last minute (I think it was thirty).

            "They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through westfold, burning as they go, every rick, cot, and tree," Éowyn explained, gesturing to the children (who had apparently escaped from the wildmen).

            "Where's mama?" asked Freya, looking up from her dinner, her eyes frightened and craving the security of her mother.

            "Hush," Éowyn instructed, gently stroking her hair.

            "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash," Gandalf began. Théoden cradled his forehead in his hand, deeply frustrated. "All the more potent for he is driven mad by the fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Drive him away from the women and children. You _must_ fight." Théoden made no reply and Aragorn stepped in with his advice.

            "You have two-thousand good men riding north as we speak Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

            "They will be three-hundred leagues from here by now," Théoden replied tiredly. At that point I wished I knew how long a league was and why people had to constantly use it as a measurement. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me. But I will not bring further death upon my people. I will not risk open war."

            "Open war is upon you whether you would risk it or not," Aragorn replied, a noticeable frustration creeping into his voice. 

            "When I last looked, _Théoden_, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

            I took another swig of my coffee as tension mounted in the hall. But Gimli quickly cured that by letting a loud belch erupt from his mouth. The coffee I had been in the process of swallowing threatened to come spurting out my mouth as I fought to contain my laughter. My mouth clamped shut, there was only one place for the coffee to go, and that, unfortunately, was out my nose.

            Coughing, sputtering, and laughing with coffee all over my face and the table and some on my dress, I quickly reached for my napkin and attempted to mop up my face while everyone looked on in a disgusted, yet fascinated manner. I wrinkled my nose in response to the unpleasant sensation the liquid had left in my nasal passages and tried to look as unashamed as possible, which didn't really work.

            "Can you do that again?" Eothain asked, clearly fascinated.

            "Shh…" Éowyn commanded gently.

            "Ahem…then what is the king's decision?" asked Gandalf loudly, most likely in attempt to reroute the conversation and prevent a demonstration of thevarious tricks of my nose.

            Théoden sat in a troubled silence for a moment while everyone looked on nervously. I tried to discreetly wipe the coffee from my dress while I watched conflict occur within the expression of Théoden's face. 

            "We will go to Helm's Deep," he said finally.

A/N: Wow, that was seven pages. Go me. Anyhow, R/R. Significant developments in the next chapters…


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Disclaimer: "When you wish upon a star, makes no diff'rence who you are! Anything your heart desires will come tooooo yooooou…" Yeah, well, Jiminy Cricket hasn't gotten back to me on that one, so I still don't own LOTR. Damn crickets and their empty promises…

A/N: Okay, I think I've driven myself completely crazy. I left my copy of Chapter Twenty-Eight at home while I was at my grandparents (see profile for further explanation) and I ended up having to wait to get home to write because I couldn't really remember what I had written, and consequently had nothing to build off of.

I know I've been absolutely horrible about updating, and I apologize for that. There have been several circumstances beyond my control that severely affected the amount of time I had to write. There's just been a whole lot of stuff tossed at me all at once and I've been pressed for time. I'm really sorry. I've also waited long periods of time for updates from other authors, and I know how frustrating it can be to the readers. Again, I apologize for the delay and I hope most of you will understand.

On a lighter note, this story has received over three hundred reviews, which calls for…REVIEWER APPRECIATION CHAPTER! The only thing is…I have _no_ ideas, which means I need suggestions from all you lovely people out there in reviewer land! If you have any ideas, let me know in your review.

I just finished the fifth Harry Potter book and I _loved_ it. I cried though. Anyhow, I felt that sharing that little fact with you.

Also, I haven't checked my email in about a month, so my lack of response is nothing personal…I just haven't had time lately. And Yahoo is being weird and not letting me log on…I think they're doing some work on their mail features because it won't let me log on to anything.

Ha ha, guess who has her permit? Stay off all roads and sidewalks…fwa ha ha. Anyhow, my driving instructor is the biggest jerk in the world. He's already yelled at me for no reason (I made a mistake on a form). As soon as I pass (knock on wood) I'm filing a complaint. And, according to my little "Rules of the Road" manual thingie, it is _illegal_ to drive on the sidewalks or park on the railroad tracks. There go all my plans. Heh heh, just kidding, but honestly, the book is ridiculous. "Do not pass in a no passing zone." No kidding…

Chapter Twenty-Eight

            While reflecting upon past events in their lives, the individual mind will often ponder this universal question: _Could I have been more of an idiot????_

            The answer of course, is yes, but luckily someone remotely sane managed to restrain you before you caused even more damage.

            Well…at least according to _my_ experiences.

             Throughout my life, I have managed to both knowingly _and_ unknowingly make many decisions that the average person would describe as "really, really dumb." Despite everything, I seem incapable of really learning from my previous blunders, often making the same mistake several times before some tiny part of my brain says "Oh _duh_" and a small amount of sagacity is gained on my part.

            Needless to say, the occurrence of me actually gaining actual experience and wisdom is a very rare and often isolated event.

            On that first night in Edoras, my brain apparently ignored or misplaced the memo that served to remind me that large amounts of coffee resulted in a period of sleepy stupor (often paraphrased as "crashing"), preceded by a brief burst of hyperactivity. However, through my sharp skills of observation, I was able to deduce the caffeine's negative impact on my system several minutes after I polished off my sixth cup. The subtle evidence supporting this ingenious conclusion was the fact that Aragorn casually asked me to pass the sugar and I reacted by bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

            "What is it that you find so amusing?" inquired the Ranger over my loud and disruptive snorts of mirth. 

            "You…said…'sugar'…" was the only explanation I could manage, my chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

            In the next few minutes I was reprimanded several times on various offences, mostly on the grounds of laughing too hard, especially when Gimli (who had officially lapsed into a drunken state after his fifth ale) nearly fell off his chair, mumbling unintelligibly about flying cats.

            "Haley!" Aragorn snapped after I upset a bowl of cream, most of it spilling onto his tunic. It was evident that he was losing his patience, making it necessary for me to laugh even harder.

            "I'll…I'll getchu, you villain!" slurred Gimli, haphazardly swiping at an invisible foe. "You can't eshcape Gimli the…brave son…Gloin…hmm…gumdrop…"

            "Haley that is quite enough!" barked Aragorn, rubbing at his tunic with a napkin. It was the straw that broke the camel's back; his face was scarlet with anger and the increasingly fierce movements of his arms indicated that his tolerance had long since ended.

            This made no impression on me, as the tiny amount of good sense I possess had stopped functioning after the fourth cup.

            "Aha! You admit defeat!" crowed Gimli, brandishing a spoon and waving it in the direction of Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn shot a pained look at Legolas as Gimli hacked at his elbow with his spoon.

"Ahhh…ha…frogs," I managed before burying my face into my hands, shoulders quaking with laughter. Théoden, I noticed, was looking slightly perturbed at my growing chortles—his eyebrows kept retreating higher, seeming to seek the shelter of his receding hairline. 

Or maybe it had something to do with Gimli's threatening dialogue with invisible enemies. Both of us were acting pretty weird.

            Gandalf, however, did not seem surprised in the slightest.

            A strong hand suddenly clasped itself in mine and gently pulled me upward, the other softly lighting on my elbow to maintain my balance.

            "It is far time you retire," Legolas advised, steering me by the elbow in the direction of the door.

            "And you as well, Master Dwarf," Aragorn announced, nudging the mumbling Dwarf at his side. 

            "I shall not…" Gimli began before breaking off into a mumble.

            "Hail Théoden King!" called Legolas in parting, managing an awkward bow in Théoden's direction.

            "Peace out." I offered a quick salute before tripping over my own feet and bursting into giggles again. Théoden nodded slightly, gesturing that our dismissal was granted (if not encouraged.) Gandalf raised his hand slightly in my direction, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

            With that, Legolas pushed me through the door, thwarting my unconscious attempts to embarrass myself in front of everyone.

            "Maybe you should drink water next time," mused Legolas, falling into step beside me. I considered it for a moment before shaking my head.

            "I'd probably find some way to get hyper off of that too," I replied. "On that note it'd probably be wise on your part to never allow me to touch ale." I tripped over a rug as I was saying, thus confirming the point I was trying to make. 

            "I quite agree," he responded, grabbing me by the elbow in a vain attempt to keep me balanced. His hand remained at my elbow, sparking that familiar feeling of extreme happiness somewhere in my caffeine-saturated mind. I continued down the hall feeling oddly disengaged from my body, yet extremely happy all the same. Of course, I babbled on like an idiot, probably ruining the moment completely, but I was too elated and hyped up to really care about anything beyond the hand at my elbow. 

            _Jeez, you're overreacting,_ an obnoxious voice sounded inside my mind.

            _I am **not**,_ I returned as I climbed the stairs, _I'm happy. I've got a right to be happy about it. It's a step in the right direction._

            _Hello, it's not like you're making out with him or something_.

            _Well, **that'd** be hard to do when we're walking. Duh. Anyway, I'm sick of listening to my doubts and insecurities. Shut up._

_            Don't tell me to shut up…_

_            Hey, this is my mind! I can tell you to shut up if I…okay, I'm not only **talking** to myself, I've started arguing with myself. That can't be good…well, I guess I'd win either way…right? Yeah, okay._

            There are sometimes when I wonder if men really understand the emotional turmoil they cause within a woman's mind. I asked Aragorn later and his response was as follows (and this is _without_ the influence of televised sports): "Huh?" 

            My guess is no.

            While I was contemplating the issue of male intelligence, we managed to pass my room three times before I noticed. The irony of the situation continues to amaze me.

            "I never said I was a genius," I argued, receiving the Legolas Look of Death (the main message in this particular look was "Duh") in response. "Well, _excuse_ me, Lassie," I replied, rolling my eyes, "but you should know that I probably couldn't find my way out of an open cardboard box. And with six cups of coffee in my system, I probably couldn't find my way _in_ the box in the first place—wait, I've turned that into a paradox or something…never mind. Anyhow—" I stopped in mid-sentence. The latch was not yielding to the pressure of my fingers. Annoyed, I shook the handle, hoping to loosen up whatever was causing the blockage. I tried again, this time giving the door a good shove.

            It was locked.

            "Dammit…" I muttered, shaking the latch again. It wouldn't budge. I glared at it angrily.

            "May I?" asked Legolas, frowning slightly. I stepped aside, letting Super Elf have a turn at the door. When it became obvious to him that he had no special abilities concerning inanimate objects, he sighed and turned to me expectantly.

            "Don't look at me," I said, folding my arms over my stomach. "Last time I checked, _you're_ the one who's like five-thousand years old. You're the one with experience and intelligence; _you_ do something."

            "Two-thousand-nine-hundred-and-thirty-one," he corrected, raising an eyebrow slightly.

            "Same thing," I responded, shrugging.

            "Hardly."

            I rolled my eyes and was about to deliver a smart-aleck response when a door two doors down swung open and a slight boy emerged, a tray of dirty dishes balanced precariously on his left hand. My spirits brightened considerably.

            "Hey," I greeted once he had shut the door and transferred the tray to both hands. He looked up and cautiously approached, jerking his head in a curt bow.

            "Yes milady?" he inquired timidly.

            "Uh…hi. Yeah…um I'm kind of locked out," I began awkwardly. "Do you have the key to this room or do you know who does?" I smiled as an afterthought, praying he wasn't as stupid as he looked.

            "Oh, I 'aven't got th' keys, milady, but Celia an' Margaret do," he offered, seeming slightly proud that he could provide a small piece of information. I sighed happily.

            "Great. Where can I find them?" I returned, smiling gratefully. _I'm saved, I'm saved…_I sang internally.

            "Oh, Margaret's gone 'ome for the night—you know, 'cause 'er knees give 'er trouble—but Celia's still 'ere."

            "Wonderful. Where is she?"

            "…Unless today's…oh…she's out tending to 'er mum…she usually does on account of 'er mum getting up in the years—it's hard for 'er to get on an' all that. She should be back in an hour or so, dependin' on how well the old lady's doin' today. Sorry, milady," he explained, shrugging slightly. The song in my head had since changed its lyrics to _Oh shit, oh shit…_

            "Oh…crap. Well, uh…thanks anyway," I replied, my shoulders sinking with my hopes. The servant boy gave a quick bow and smiled foolishly, despite the situation.

            "Glad to be of service, milady," he responded with a cheerful grin before retreating down the hall, whistling a lively tune.

            _Must…not…scream…_I thought, slowly sliding down the wall and into a sitting position, tucking my legs under me. Leaning my head back against the wall, I was immediately confronted with the sight of Legolas staring down at me.

            "What? Do you want permission to leave or something?" I demanded, knitting my eyebrows together.

            "Don't be ridiculous," he scolded in reply.

            "Too late, bucko." I shut my eyes, taking that response as his farewell. Silence followed and I assumed he had left me to wait for Celia. I opened one eye about half a minute later and found him still standing there, looking slightly impatient.

            _Oooh, he's pretty attractive when he's irritated…_

            "You can leave. I can wait here," I muttered. The buzz from the coffee was slowly wearing off and I could feel myself growing tired and sluggish.

            "I'm not going to leave you here," he replied. I rolled my eyes. "Come on." He tugged gently at my arm.

            "Lassie, dear, I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't exactly got anywhere to go," I informed him sarcastically.

            "Well, _Duck_, you can come sit in my quarters until Celia returns," he answered, hoisting me to my feet.

            _He-llo…well **that** changes everything…_

            I staggered to my feet, feigning reluctance, attempting to hide my blush with a curtain of hair, letting Legolas practically drag me down the hall

            _Don't get so worked up, he's just being nice…and ensuring the fact that you won't wreak any **more** havoc on Edoras._

            _Yeah, well…DAMMIT I'M DOING IT AGAIN!_

            I trailed after him, trying desperately to stop talking and arguing with myself for no other reason than the fact that I can't seem to reach an opinion about anything, and to stop blushing like some fainting lovesick idiot. Despite this uncomfortable situation, I have _not_ and will _not_ become a simpering wimp who can't form a sentence without sticking an "Ah me!" in there somewhere. I will **never** be like that.

            I just might faint, that's all.

            I suppose I should be thankful that Legolas knew where he was going, but at that point I was too numb to really care. I was forced (by Legolas) to stop dragging my feet and whining several minutes into the journey or face being carried like a sack of potatoes. For the record, I had absolutely no problem with being carried by Legolas (it'd be an…_interesting_ view), but fortunately common sense restrained me. Besides, I can think of a hundred other ways that would be much more romantic than being tossed over someone's shoulder and lugged around. Anyhow, I grumbled and fell into pace beside him, occasionally shooting him a look. Eventually I got bored with that and attempted to trip him up instead, not taking certain important aspects, such as his catlike reflexes, into account. I soon found myself face to face with the floor and tripping Legolas was no longer tempting or amusing.

            After that I pretty much stuck to the occasional glare and cough that cleverly concealed the word "butthead." I'm not sure if he noticed or not, because he didn't seem irritated. 

Then again, my terminology might not have been very effective either.

He eventually came to a stop at what was supposedly his room. I had half-expected to find the door shut and be forced to return to the hall, but surprisingly, the door easily swung open.

"I made a request," he replied in explanation to my raised eyebrow. 

_I wonder if it's possible for him to be negligent about **anything**…_

He held the door open and made an exaggerated sweep with his right arm. I grumbled and shuffled into the room, elbowing him slightly as I passed. 

The room I stepped into was slightly more modern than my own, with dark wooden paneling in place of the grey stone walls and a floor that was apparently made with some sort of leveling device (the floor in my room was modeled after the Middle-earth equivalent of the Rocky mountains). Bookshelves and various cabinetries had been built into the walls, leaving more room for furniture, most of which appeared to have no function whatsoever (I swear to God he had like three different armoires and there were quite a few tables that seemed purely ornamental. My question is: who needs more than one decorative table?) A large canopy bed draped with many coverlets (all various shades of red and gold) was tucked in the corner next to one of the mysterious armoires. Two faded emerald green armchairs were situated near one of the larger bookshelves and a small writing desk. Heavily brocaded curtains hung about the windows, drawn shut for the night, the gold cords hanging absently at the sides.

"Cool," I remarked, looking around the room in approval. "I call the big comfy chair!" I sprinted over to the largest of the armchairs and hurled myself into the seat, displacing a table as I went. Although he probably could have beaten me to it, Legolas made no attempt to thwart my chances at gaining access to the chair. He quietly seated himself in the remaining chair as I quickly righted the table.

"So Lassie, what do _you_ want to talk about?" I inquired, squirming as I attempted to sit Indian-style in the chair, skirts and all. "There's…weather and…uh…weapons…and…Middle-earth stuff that I still don't get…" I groped for another topic. "Uh…goats…"

"You rarely mention your own home," he responded. Silence followed, unasked questions hanging in the air. I took a deep breath.

"My home…you want to know about my home...."

I lost track of what I said after that, going into complicated explanations of technology—and a few other things, such as the concept of the American government and television. I thought about educating him on some culture points, such as the Macerana, but I concluded that it would be best left alone.

"It's weird though," I said sometime later. "I'm happy here. I miss…" I swallowed a lump in my throat. I had managed to avoid speaking about my personal past for nearly all of the conversation (not to mention the fact that I had not really spoken about it for over three months) and to mention Aunt Kate was suddenly incredibly difficult. I took a deep breath and continued, trying to hide the quaver in my voice. "I…I…mi—I miss my aunt a lot…but I think I'm happier here than I could have ever been at home…" I inhaled deeply through my nose, calming myself slightly.

There was a long moment of silence before I spoke again.

"Well, I've talked for a long time…probably more than you want to hear," I began, attempting to sound cheerful. "So…I'm going to ask _you_ a question…" I thought quietly for a few moments. One question kept reappearing in my thoughts, a question that had been left unanswered for a long time. I tried to think of something else, but I found myself blurting out "What if we lose?"

"What exactly do you mean?" Legolas replied, frowning slightly.

"What if we lose this whole war? What then? I mean, aside from the complete chaos and end of the world business…what will happen?" I was searching hopelessly for words and found myself retreating back to the simple question I had asked before.

He was silent for a long time, and I began to wonder if he understood anything I was trying to say.

"I cannot say exactly…most envision the apocalypse you described. But it is for that reason—the fear of the unknown terror—that we must fight and triumph." He gazed into the dying fire as he spoke, looking slightly distraught. I sat back and reflected upon what he had just said. I wasn't completely sure that I understood everything he had just said, but it seemed right in a bizarre way that I could not fully understand.

Then again, it could have been the coffee.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted our silence. Before either of us could give consent to enter, the door burst open and in marched Celia, her cheeks red with a sort of embarrassed flurry, distracting the eye from the dark circles that were beginning to form under her eyes.

"Mistress!" she exclaimed, seeming both relieved and reproving all at once. 

"Hey Celia, what's—" I began, waving in greeting.

"It is far too late for you to be out and about!" she chastised, her mouth forming a stern, hard line.

"Eh, I had like six cups of—" I shrugged.

"…You need your rest!" she interrupted, shaking a finger at me.

"Uh…elves don't slee—"

"Honestly! Up at this hour! It's a wonder you managed three months _in the wild_ with these habits!"

"No, seriously—"

"And look at this dress! Wrinkled for sure! And you've got something down the front as well!"

"It was Gimli's—"

"It's straight to your quarters! You look a fright! Bid this gentleman goodnight and be on your way." She had somehow managed to get me out of my chair and on my feet during this time and was hurriedly ushering me to the door.

"Uh…well…bye…" I said to Legolas in parting, mouthing 'Sorry!' as Celia shepherded me through the door and into the hall. I caught a brief glimpse of him nodding slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Celia accompanied me down the hall, muttering non-stop about the state of my dress and hair. "Shouldn't be out at this time. Why if Mother were here there'd be none of this nonsense, young ladies staying out past—" I blocked her out after awhile and happily replayed the last few minutes I had spent with Legolas.

"—none of this cheek, let me tell you…" Celia was still grumbling when we reached my door.

"Uh, Celia, _who_ are you talking to?" I inquired, snapping out of my little daydream.

"Improper, mistress, to be out with a _young man_ at this hour!" she expostulated, as she fitted the key into the lock, completely ignoring my previous question. "And in his _quarters_ as well! What do you expect people to think?"

"Okay, I confess. We went into his room and had wild sex and then put our clothes back on and had a deep philosophical discussion about good and evil," I replied, hanging my head in mock shame. 

"You have got _quite_ a mouth, mistress. That kind of talk isn't becoming to a lady, mind you—" Celia exclaimed indignantly, opening the door.

            "You seem to have a lot of ideas on what doesn't become a lady…

            "Mistress!"

            I was then forced to endure a twenty-minute lecture on etiquette as she helped me dress for bed. I managed to keep most of my comments to myself.

            "Goodnight, mistress. And take care you—" 

            "Yeah, yeah, no mattress dancing. Honestly Celia, we were just _talking_…"

            "You best keep away from gentlemen's rooms…"

            "Celia…"

            "If you say so, mistress, but take care to mind yourself…"

            "Oh, don't I always?"

            Celia raised an eyebrow in response. I smiled.

            "You've known me for what, twelve hours, and you already have me figured out."

            "Well…I was a girl, once. And you remind me a bit of myself…too cheeky for your own good."

            "I try my best."

            "Goodnight, mistress."

            The door shut behind her softly. I listened in the darkness for the click of the lock. I smiled at the silence, broken only by the distant shuffle of Celia's feet as she made her way down the hall. I rolled over, pulling the blankets high over my shoulders and reflected.

            A drunken dwarf, an overdose of caffeine, conversations with myself, Legolas' room, and Celia fussing about everything like an overgrown hen.

            Definitely the weirdest night _ever_…despite the absence of wild sex preceding a philosophical discussion. 

A/N: This was supposed to be up sooner (I didn't count on having to revise this chapter), but there's been some stuff going on…mainly, we lost our power for two days and our internet for three. Broadband was sold to Comcast and there's been some adjustment stuff that we had to go through. There's also been some death and illness inside and outside of my family and things haven't been really smooth. Anyhow, I'm sorry I was so delayed and I'm working much harder to get stuff up.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Disclaimer: We interrupt this program to perform an emergency broadcast regarding information that has not changed since the last time you checked: George Bush is still from Texas and I still don't own LOTR. This broadcast was brought to you by me and my usual gang of idiots—namely, my few remaining brain cells—with support from viewers like you—no, the person at the computer, not the guy in the shrimp costume. Now for your regularly scheduled chapter.

A/N: Do you know what time it is? It's time for…

REVIEWER APPRECIATION CHAPTER!

This is where I take the time to thank all the lovely people out there in Reviewer land who have taken the time to read and review this fic. I truly appreciate the support, praise, criticism, and even flames. You all motivate and inspire me to write more and make it fun for me to write.

Now, what I'd normally do is buy everyone candy and food you can send over the internet, so I've decided to distribute lollipops to the masses along with my famous life-size solid milk chocolate statues of Legolas. Thank you all sooo much for your support, criticism, etc., etc. It is most appreciated.

Also, special thanks to Ravyn, who is my official pesterer.

And now, it's time for Chapter Twenty-Nine, which I dedicate to anyone who's ever reviewed this story.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

(Dedicated to all my reviewers)

            I was awakened very early the next morning with a splitting headache and a major case of cramps. I muttered a few offensive phrases into my pillow before yanking the comforter far over my head and rolling over onto my back.

            Unfortunately, I had failed to notice that the side of the bed ended only a few inches away from where I had been sleeping, and also in the direction that I had chosen to propel my body. I clawed helplessly at the sheets as I felt the bed disappear from beneath me, knocking my wrist against the bedpost in the process. I plummeted to the floor, taking the comforter and several blankets with me, emitting a string of curses that made absolutely no sense. I finally crashed to the floor, crashing into the bedside table and banging my already aching head against the wall.

            "Dammit…" I muttered a few moments later. A candleholder clattered to the floor in response.

            Grumbling, I sat up and pushed the twisted mass of sheets and blankets back onto the bed. I sat quietly for a moment or two before I attempted to stand up, feeling nauseous, dizzy, and grossly overtired.

            _I have got to limit my caffeine intake,_ I thought to myself as I sat back down on the bed.

            I sat and stared at the wall for about five minutes, feeling to tired to function, but too awake to even attempt to go back to sleep. My eyes slid in and out of focus until a tiny little thought was able to form inside my half-functional brain:

            _I gotta pee like a racehorse._

            This hit me quite suddenly and I jumped to my feet, an action which I regretted almost immediately afterward. Yesterday's little ride across the plains had been hell on my leg muscles and the pain in my butt was enough to convince me to avoid horseback riding forever. Thankfully, I managed to stagger to the bathroom without doing too much damage to myself or anything else in the way.

            After I relieved myself of almost all the liquids I had consumed the night before, I decided that a nice hot bath would suit me very nicely. Unfortunately, it was at this point that I realized that my bath had not yet been drawn and there was no tap or faucet in sight. How they managed to fill the bath in the first place is still a mystery to me.

            "I want real plumbing, dammit…" I muttered angrily to the empty tub, stamping my foot on the floor for emphasis. I desperately needed a hot bath, so rather than do something sensible, like call a servant, find a nearby pond, or even bang on someone's door and demand that they let me use their bathroom, I limped back into my bedroom with a bar of soap, in search of the washbasin and pitcher I had seen Celia had set out for me last night. I reached the washstand and dumped about half the contents of the pitcher into the basin along with the bar of soap, grabbing one of the towels that had been folded neatly on the table and dunking it in the semi-soapy water.

            "Operation: Sponge bath," I muttered to the white porcelain.

*

            About thirty minutes later I had successfully cleaned myself, along with large portions of the floor and rug. I mopped up the larger puddles with a towel, figuring that a little soapy water probably wouldn't do too much damage, seeing as some of the carpets around here look like they've _never_ been cleaned.

            After drying off, I dug through my pack in search for a clean pair of clothes that Celia had not yet managed to confiscate. She _said_ that she was taking them down to be cleaned and repaired, but I had a nagging suspicion that I wasn't going to see the clothes I had been wearing upon my arrival again in this lifetime. The cleanest shirt I had in my possession smelled slightly smoky and the pants I had chosen had some grass stains on the knees, and it looked as though the stitching on the hem was coming undone, but I decided that I didn't care. Besides, I'd rather wear slightly dirty clothes than a fancy clean dress (which, judging from the inside of my armoire, there are plenty of). 

I ran a brush through my hair a couple times and spent about twenty minutes trying to execute a perfect French braid (I contemplated asking Legolas to braid my hair, but decided that I'd rather not take the risk of being throttled this early in the morning). Once I had constructed something that vaguely resembled a braid, I stared at my reflection for a moment before cautiously opening a drawer and withdrawing a small pot of rouge and tube of lipstick. I opened the rouge and blended a little into my cheeks, trying hard to make it look natural. Once satisfied with my work, I applied a small amount of lipstick, blotting at it with a handkerchief. I stepped back and looked at myself again. It wasn't a drastic change; just a little subtle coloring that made me look healthier and a little more polished. Pleased, I shoved the make-up back into the drawer and exited the room.

*

            I wandered for a good twenty minutes, traipsing down many corridors and avoiding narrow collisions with servants, most of whom were very anxious to know why the heck was I up so early and without a proper escort (their inquiries were much more polite, of course). I'd rattle off some excuse about being bored and hungry, but I found it much more entertaining to tell them that I was returning from my lover's bedroom or that I was attempting to find Nemo (I got a few offers of help on that last one). Sure, I might have earned a bit of a bad reputation for myself, but the expressions were absolutely priceless. 

            I unintentionally stumbled into the Great Hall, sometime later, and decided that I needed breakfast and that I was going to whine about it to someone until they brought me food or kicked me out, whichever came first.

            And then I noticed that I wasn't alone. Gimli was sitting at a table, brooding over what looked to be a mug of warm milk and a grey mass that was apparently supposed to be porridge. I grinned to myself and waltzed over to the table.

            "Why if it isn't Mr. Hangover himself!" I exclaimed, plopping down across from him. He grunted in response "How are we feeling today, Breakfast Buddy?"

            "It would be very foolish on your part to bother me this morning," he muttered in response, downing more of his milk in a tremendous gulp. "I need to have a word with you," he announced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I raised an eyebrow. Gimli _wanted_ to talk to me?

This was almost too bizarre. The pod people must have had something to do with it…

            "Um…okay. So…what's up?" I replied after a moment of awkward silence. Gimli looked heavenward.

            "The ceiling and if you're going to be bothering me with more inane questions, my axe will answer for me," he snapped angrily, his grip tightening on the mug in front of him. I sighed heavily.

            "Gimli…let's review for a second…it's a figure of speech…it's not—oh never mind," I replied, losing patience with myself. I still had a headache and wasn't in a mood to explain anything. "What do you want to talk to me about?" I demanded irritably. Gimli looked around shiftily.

            "Keep your voice low. The walls have ears." I frowned. _Where the hell did that come from?_

            "Yeah, I hear they have noses, too…" I replied. "And some," I said leaning in closer, "even have EYES!"

            "Enough of this nonsense!" he barked angrily. I raised an eyebrow. Apparently hangovers make him edgy.

            Wait, he's always like that…never mind…

            "Fine. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would get to the point of this conversation. And make it fast. I'm hungry," I snapped back irritably. Gimli glared at me for a moment before sticking his spoon into his porridge, which looked to be made of water and grayish oats with suspicious chunks protruding from the surface. I wrinkled my nose.

            _I don't even **want** to know what the eggs look like…I think I'll have dry toast. I don't think you can get food poisoning from that…_

            "I will be very direct," Gimli promised between chews. He took a swig of milk, presumably to prevent the cement-like porridge from sealing his throat shut completely (strangely, he didn't seemed to be bothered by the strange consistency of his breakfast). He swallowed and looked at me, eyes narrowed with a sort of smugness. "You have an eye for Legolas, do you not?"

            I blanched.

            Holy crap.

            _Shit, shit, shit, what the hell am I going to say? How can I get out of this? Do I say anything? Laugh at him? What? WHAT? I need a line…anything to get me out of this…come on…THINK! What do I do? Oh my God my life is OVER! OVER!_

            "WHAT?!" I managed to choke out a few moments after my heart restarted itself.

            "You have an eye for Legolas," he repeated, this time with more conviction.

            "You're still drunk, aren't you?" I responded in a desperate attempt to make him look foolish. _Must remain calm…no sudden moves…_

            "There's no use trying to deny anything," he stated, looking very satisfied with himself. "I see things—the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" If I hadn't been scared shitless, I would have rolled my eyes. Last time he tried to pull that one, he almost became Dwarf-On-A-Stick.

            "Gimli, you have just received an award for being the most ridiculous person on the face of the earth," I announced, praying that he would just shut up and go back to his porridge. However, there was a certain gleam in his eye that suggested that he was not going to drop this any time soon. He finally had some dirt on me and he wasn't going to relent until I confessed. 

            "Why are you trying to deny it?" he asked with a heavy sigh. "Where does that get you? Nowhere! You should want to shout it from the rooftops and let EVERYONE know!" He illustrated his point with a flourish of his hand. I sighed.

            "Gimli, there are some things that I **don't** want to 'shout from the rooftops' because they are embarrassing—"

            "AHA! You admit it then!" he crowed, banging his fist on the table. The little color that had returned to my cheeks drained completely.

            _Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!_

            "I didn't admit _anything_!" I insisted with in an embarrassed flurry.

            "Ah, but you _did_," he returned triumphantly. 

            There was two minutes of complete silence as I retreated to my thoughts, grasping desperately for some kind of retort, explanation, _anything_ that would help me get out of the rut I had driven into. I thought about trying to convince him that this entire conversation was a dream, but the odds of that working were very slim.

            For the first time in my life I couldn't get out with a snappy comeback or with the use of my obscure sense of logic. I was completely on my own.

            "Okay, fine, you're right," I finally spat out, regretting it almost immediately and faced with an impending feeling of disaster. "But Gimli, I swear to God if you let _ANYTHING_ slip, you won't be eating solid food for _at least_ three months. Do you get my drift?" He held up a hand.

            "It is not my confession to make. But I will swear upon…" he thought for a moment. "…my love of the Lady of the Golden Wood…" he continued, his eyes becoming rather dreamy and wistful (which, to say the least, was a little disturbing).

            "Fine. Just keep your mouth shut," I replied abruptly, breaking off his little soliloquy.

            "Why do you wish to keep it silent?" he asked suddenly.

            "Because it's embarrassing, especially if…never mind. It's just embarrassing," I answered, desperately wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.

            "Then how do you expect to make any progress?" he inquired, looking somewhat sagely for a change. Although I continued to repeat to myself that he was just a crazy dwarf, what he said made sense and I wasn't able to push it away from my thoughts.

            "You have some strange ideas about romance, Gimli," I replied a moment later. He grunted in response. "Well, I'm going to go back to my room and see if Celia can do something about my breakfast," I said rising from the table.

            "Haley?" Gimli called suddenly. I turned around.

            "Yeah?"

            "This conversation never happened."

            "I completely agree."

*

            _Oh this is just peachy. All my deepest darkest secrets are privy to a Dwarf. Wonderful,_ I thought to myself. I was back in my room and Celia had just left to go get me some toast, and maybe some fruit, if they had any. I had flung myself down on my bed and demanded to know why life had to be such a pain. The pillows had no answer for me, so I retreated to my writing desk where I was trying to distract myself with the various functions of the writing tools tucked away in the multiple drawers and cubbies.

            _Maybe he was right about the whole secret thingy…it makes some sense…_I contemplated as I made up a list ('Twenty Reasons Why Things Were So Much Less Complicated Before We Met Those Damn Orcs By the Anduin'). 

_But then again, he was also completely drunk less than twelve hours ago…_I reminded myself as I penned in:

 **The hobbits were still with us and they always seemed to make things better or at least they tried to cheer you up. **

_But some people come up with good ideas when they're drunk…the guy who wrote _Alice In Wonderland _was when he came up with the idea. Or maybe he was stoned. I can't remember._

            **Sam knew how to cook good food.**

_But it doesn't change the fact that it's embarrassing, especially if I'm the only one who feels that way…_

**Merry and Pippin: the comic relief of the Fellowship. Enough said.**

_However, I should learn to take chances…_

**There was a Fellowship.**

I sighed and looked down at the paper. I was feeling depressed and nostalgic, not to mention a little panicked because I just remembered that we still weren't completely sure where most of the hobbits were and if they were still all in one piece. I crumpled up the list and tossed it into the fire.

            _Maybe I should write something to him…_

            I picked up a blank sheet of paper and cautiously dipped the quill into the inkwell.

            _Oh my God, NO! Do you realize how stupid that would be?_

            _I wouldn't have to GIVE it to him…it'd just be…there…_

            A drop of ink dripped onto the surface of the desk.

            _For what???_

            _Just for…practice…just in case I need it…_

            _Why?_

            Another drop.

            _Just if…if I need to let him know, I'll be able to. If…something happens or…something…_

_            I think you're making a mistake…_

_            Well…I don't…and…dammit, I hate it when I argue with myself like this. I'm writing something and that's it. I don't need to bring up both sides of the issue and turn it into some sort of conversation with myself._

Satisfied with my argument, I placed the quill to the paper and realized that I had absolutely no idea what I intended to say. I can't write poetry and I didn't want to sound like some smarmy idiot, so I was left with about two options: be blunt or don't write anything at all. Taking a deep breath, I dipped the quill into the inkwell again and began to write.

            When I had finished, I sat back and read it over:

            **I love you.**

Short, sweet, and to the point. Feeling slightly uneasy, I tore off the rest of the blank page, saving only the small scrap with the writing on it. I slipped it into my pocket and rose from my chair, just as Celia opened the door, bearing a small tray laden with what looked to be about seven slices of toast and at least four different kinds of fruit.

            _I really hope I don't regret this,_ was all I could think as I picked at my breakfast.

            Actually, I take that back. A good portion of my thoughts were focused on the possibility of one getting food poisoning from toast.

A/N: I'm so sorry if I went all Mary Sue on you (hey, that rhymes!). I'm really not sure how this turned out. I feel like this is a little too clichéd…but in some ways I feel that it's okay, but I also know what's going to happen, so…. Let me know. I'm tearing my hair out here, lol. NOTE: The relationship between Gimli and Haley isn't going to change (believe me…I have too many ideas for future clashes…) but I'm not sure about the reception this chapter will get…it's all part of the Helm's Deep (music cue: dun dun DUN)…but I dunno. Well, if it really bites, I'll revise it. LoL. R/R!


	30. Chapter Thirty

Disclaimer: Frankly, I'd be much more concerned about me plotting to take OVER the entire movie industry (four words: access to hot actors) rather than merely _claiming_ to own something.

A/N: Well…I suppose an explanation is in order, since I've been incredibly inactive for like a month or so. I started school, so I've been really busy with work and extracurricular activities, and I've been trying to get my act together about this. I've got a super heavy course load this year and it's taking time to adjust. I had a huge summer assignment I had to finish too and all that jazz. So my nerves have been a little frayed for the past couple of weeks, but I'm home sick with a cold today, so I figured I'd better get some chapters written today. This has been close to finished for awhile now, but I had to revise and…argh. I'm tired.

OVER 400 REVIEWS!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! (chocolates and gummy bears for all!)

Little Known Fact: There was actually a conflict in Canada called the Beaver Wars. My personal favorite is the War of Jenkins' Ear. 

Guess what? I'm now the proud and deliriously happy owner of _The Two Towers_ on DVD! I haven't really watched it yet—just a couple of scenes I needed to see in order to write this chapter along with the scene where Gollum talks to himself (one of my favorites). 

I'd like to correct something from the last chapter: the dedication was _supposed_ to be for **_everyone who's ever read and/or reviewed this story_**. Sorry about that. 

In other news: _The Truth About Elves_ has been online for one whole year, as of August 12, 2003. Anyway, I noticed that and decided to share it with you and distribute virtual birthday cake. (Throws cake and confetti into the air) Woo hoo!

Speaking of birthdays…(drum roll) I am now sixteen years old! YAY! My birthday was September 10. Anyway…

I also saw Rooney in concert this past Saturday. It was totally amazing. I took lotsa pictures, but unfortunately, I didn't get to meet them—you needed a VIP pass. But that's okay—they'll be back. PS. Check out their website…they're really great. Oh, if you've seen Princess Diaries, the guy who plays Michael Moscovitz is the leader of the band.

Chapter Thirty

(Whoa…big numbers!)

            "I would kill for a cheeseburger right about now," I muttered to my plate as I poked at a particularly singed piece of toast. "With a large order of fries and a thick vanilla milkshake." I scraped a hunk of butter over the top with a knife, hoping that it would either soften the bread or improve the taste.

            "What's that you're saying?" Celia inquired as she folded up one of the shirts I had left on the floor and placed it neatly in my pack. "And what on earth happened to this bed?" She abandoned the pack on the floor and hustled over to straighten out the mound of twisted sheets and blankets.

            "Philosophical 'discussion,'" I replied through a mouthful of toast and butter, inwardly thinking _Ha, I **wish**_…

            "You're sending me to an early grave, milady," Celia scolded, snapping a sheet into place with a little more force than necessary. "Where you pick up this language is beyond me—your companions are all very well spoken, perhaps with the exception of that Dwarf." I chuckled as I brushed a few stray crumbs from my shirt. "But even he knows when to mind himself—which is more than I can say for you, milady." She smoothed a blanket over the surface of the bed and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

            "You set yourself up for these things," I shrugged, popping the last piece of crust into my mouth. She huffed in exasperation, retrieving another one of my shirts from the floor and folding it into a neat little rectangle. I rolled my eyes and selected another piece of toast.

            "I had your clothes cleaned and mended," Celia announced as I spread a generous amount of jam onto my toast, wondering if it would taste better than the butter (which hadn't done much in terms of making the toast taste any less burnt). She pulled a shirt out of the laundry basket she had brought in earlier and smoothed it out on the bed. "Very good quality, these clothes, but the stitching was coming undone on the sleeve."

            "Thank you," I mumbled, spraying crumbs all over the table and tray. I swallowed and swept them into my hand. "They're Elvish. Either from Rivendell or Lothlorien; I can't remember." Celia inspected the fabric with a little more curiosity. 

            "I thought there was something diff'rent about them," she stated, admiring the stitching at the collar. "They're quite beautiful, rare piece of work. You be sure to take care of 'em. It's a privilege indeed to own something like this."  She gave me a reproving glance before delicately placing the shirt in my pack. "I found a couple other shirts and tunics that looked to be about your size and a pair of pants my boy used to wear. They may be a little big on you, but they'll do," she said, removing several folded shirts from the laundry basket.

            "Aw…thank you…" I replied, at a loss for what to say. "You shouldn't have," I added for good measure. She shrugged good-naturedly

            "I figure if you insist upon going out and fighting with the men, you ought to have a few more things to wear than what you've got," she explained. "And," she continued, raising her eyebrows in a gentle scold, "I have some personal belongings of yours that you left at the hands of our guards." She withdrew my sheathed sword from the basket, along with my quiver of arrows. "Do these look familiar?" she inquired, looking slightly dissatisfied with my lack of responsibility.

            "My baby!" I exclaimed, dropping my toast on my plate as I rushed over and grabbed my sword. "I missed you so much!" I cooed, rubbing a smudge of dirt from the hilt.

            "Yet apparently not enough to look after it properly," muttered Celia as I buckled it onto my waist.

            "Don't you listen to her," I whispered loudly. Celia rolled her eyes and began strapping the quiver to my pack.

            "Stop babbling and get your cloak on. The wind was quite nippy this morning; I don't want you catching a cold," she instructed, reaching for the bow.

            I was just about to point out that I couldn't catch a cold because elves are immune to all pestilence, blah, blah, blah, when a soft knock sounded at the door.

            "I'll get that, you get your cloak on," Celia said as I went to answer the door. I sighed and slouched back to the bathroom door where my cloak was hanging on a hook.

            Celia opened the door to reveal a smallish boy of about eight with a freckle-spattered nose, standing on the threshold.

            "G'morning, Corin*," Celia greeted warmly as I swept the cloak over my shoulders. "What's your errand?"

            He grinned and dug in his pockets for a moment before producing a slightly wrinkled piece of parchment, folded and sealed.

            "I'm sup'osed to deliver this to Miss Logan from a genl'man downstairs. 'E says 's urgent," he stated, looking rather proud of himself.

            "Thank you, Corin," Celia said, accepting the note. "Mistress," she called over her shoulder, nodding to me. I approached her slowly, my hand automatically reaching inside my pocket. My fingers closed around the small scrap of paper and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took the note from her outstretched hands and inspected the seal. It was very elaborate, with big flourishes and several mysterious runes that looked to be some form of Elvish. After squinting at it for several minutes, I was able to make out what I thought resembled an 'a'. Making a mental note to tell Aragorn that he desperately needed a new seal (preferably one that was really obvious, like a big capital 'a' or something like "This is from Aragorn. AKA Estel, 'Gorny, and Pookie (to Arwen, of course)" in bold letters), I broke the seal with my thumb and unfolded the letter.

            _Dear Haley (or Duck, whichever you prefer),_ it read. I wrinkled my nose in annoyance and continued. _Your presence is requested immediately (Gimli comments on your usual tardiness and advises you not to dawdle). We will be going to the stables soon, so please hurry (direct quote from our dear Dwarf: "What in all of Middle-earth is she doing up there?" (Legolas suggests that you might have retired and gone back to bed) "Well, whatever she's doing, she ought to take her own advice and 'move it.'") Corin will know where to take you. It would be advisable to retrieve your belongings now. Our journey begins today and we have little time to spare. Also, I ask that you please try to aggravate Gimli less than usual today. He is in a rather foul mood this morning. Regards, Aragorn. _Underneath the Ranger's name, Legolas had written in his familiar neat script: _(Fondly known as 'Gorny). Hurry. You're quite late._

"Since when is everyone so sarcastic?" I demanded, frowning at the paper before folding it up and cramming it into my pocket. "That's _my_ job. Anyhow, I gotta go before that vein in Aragorn's forehead bursts or Gimli goes on a homicidal rage or something." I picked up my pack and grabbed my hunting knife from where it was nestled in the laundry basket, stuffing it into my boot as an afterthought. The next time we have to disarm, the Living Swiss Army Knives are _not_ showing me up.

            "Okay. I'm all set," I said, adjusting the straps on my shoulder. "Thank you very much for putting up with me," I said to Celia with a grin. "I appreciate it. And thank you for the clothes. That was really nice of you." She smiled softly.

            "You're most welcome, milady."

            "I guess I'll be seeing you around. But in case I don't, it's been really great hanging out with you and I'm really grateful for all you've done for me," I said, feeling slightly teary at the prospect of never seeing Celia again. Despite her tendency to nag and scold me till kingdom come, it was nice having a motherly figure in my life again.

            "You're welcome, milady," she repeated with a smile.

            "Puh-leez," I replied, rolling my eyes. "You can call me Haley, for God's sake. I've been meaning to tell you that. I'm hardly nobility and I definitely couldn't call someone 'my lady' if they were as sarcastic as me." She nodded and held back a laugh with the back of her hand.

            "Goodbye, mil—Haley," she corrected herself. I smiled.

            "Bye Celia," I said, shutting the door behind me. "Okay," I said, turning to Corin, who had been picking at his fingernails for the last couple of minutes. "Where to?"

            "This way," he instructed, suddenly becoming uninterested in the state of his nails. He took off down the hall and I had to speed walk to keep up with him.

            "Why're you wearin' men's clothes?" he asked as we turned a corner. He had evidently been waiting until we were out of Celia's earshot to ask this question—it would definitely had been a breach of etiquette in her book. Not that I minded; _I_ was usually the one asking inane questions that weren't exactly appropriate.

            "Well…I have the privilege of riding a horse, and trying to do that in a dress would not only be stupid, it'd be dangerous because they'd make me ride sidesaddle. I can barely stay on a horse when I'm riding astride; I'd break my neck if I even tried to ride sidesaddle. I'm also going to be fighting, and if I tried that in a dress, it'd get in the way and I'd fall flat on my face. And lastly, dresses are a major pain in the ass, especially since you have to sit with your legs crossed and your feet start to fall asleep after awhile," I explained, adjusting my sword as I talked. Corin looked at me in disbelief—I think it might have had something to do with the fact that I used 'ass' in a sentence without referring to a donkey. The women around here definitely need to learn how to swear. "And if I keep talking, we're going to be even later and then Aragorn will chew me out, Gimli will bitch about it until he finds something else wrong with me and then he'll complain about that AND the fact that I was late, and Legolas will give me that superior look of his and make me diagram sentences. Consequently, I'll have to be a smart-ass for the rest of the day, but then again, I'm normally a smart-ass anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter." I took a deep breath and smiled at Corin to show that I wasn't nearly as insane as I sounded.

            "Do you always talk this much?" he asked after a moment.

            "Nope. Usually more."

            "Oh."

            We continued on in silence, interrupted only when Corin found it necessary to ask me another question ("Is tha' an Elvish sword?") to which I would give a complicated five-minute explanation.

            I started to feel like Anne from _Anne of Green Gables_ when she first arrives at Green Gables. _Her_ responses lasted _pages_…

            Corin eventually led me to surprise, surprise, the Great Hall. You would think that after all the time I had spent in there, I would at least know how to get there. However, my sense of direction (if I even _have_ one) had eluded me so far, so I had to be led around by an eight-year-old boy, like a dog on a leash. 

Oh well.

            Aragorn was standing with his back facing toward me and shifting impatiently, occasionally leaning over to talk to Gandalf. Gimli was standing next to Gandalf, leaning on his axe, and looking grumpy while complaining to Legolas, who obviously wasn't listening. I walked into the Hall, followed closely by Corin, and stood between Gandalf and Aragorn.

            "Good," said Aragorn once he took note of my presence. "Where were you?" He said this almost accusingly, like he suspected that I had been out smoking by the outhouse or something. "Thank you, Corin," he said to the boy, handing him a silver coin. The boy looked at the coin in amazement, his face glowing with excitement.

            "You're welcome, milord," he replied after a moment, grinning so I could see nearly all of his teeth. He gave a clumsy bow before scampering off with his newly gained treasure.

            "Good morning to you, too," I returned sarcastically once Corin had disappeared through one of the many doors leading from the hall. "I was eating my breakfast in my room, which, last time I checked, is perfectly permissible. Unless it's been strictly forbidden in the last half-hour, that is." Aragorn sighed.

            "Well, it should be, for all the time you've wasted up there," grumbled Gimli.

            "Excuse me for living," I retorted, completely ignoring the warning look Aragorn was giving me (which was extremely lacking in subtlety). Gandalf cleared his throat and smiled at me in greeting, most likely to discourage any future Dwarf-Elf hand-to-axe combat. It was just like the old times, as hokey as that sounds.

            "We should be going," Aragorn advised, using this rare moment of peace to his advantage. "It is growing late."

            "Indeed it is," Gandalf said, looking up at one of the high windows, almost as if he were searching for some sort of invisible clock. "Come," he instructed, turning on his heal and walking briskly across the hall, his staff clacking against the floor with every step.

            "Thank you Mr. Sarcasm," I said under my breath, falling into step with Legolas. I instinctively reached inside my pocket, my fingers closing around the note. It was still safe. I breathed a small sigh of relief. He smiled softly and shrugged.

            "It seemed appropriate." 

            "You're weird," I countered. He murmured something in Sindarin that sounded suspiciously like an insult. Gandalf looked rather amused and Aragorn looked back at us and chuckled. I glared at both Legolas and Aragorn. "Legolas Greenleaf, you will rue the day that I finally figure out what the hell you're saying. Until then, _vous êtes une personne folle avec les cheveux parfaits et votre chat est verte et très polie,_"** I replied, desperately trying to remember tenth grade French. Nina, the girl who sat next to me, had once taught me several useful French swear words, but I could neither remember nor pronounce them correctly, so I settled for "you are a crazy person with perfect hair and your cat is green and very polite." It didn't have to make sense; it just had to confuse them.

            "_What_?" Aragorn inquired after a moment of complete silence. I simply laughed and sang, "_I know something you don't know…_" under my breath.

***

            "By order of the King, the city must empty!" shouted a guard as we made our way to the stables. Flocks of peasants bedecked in rags gathered around him curiously. "We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep." There was a collective gasp within the group and many faces became stony and quiet. "Do not burden yourself with treasures. Take only what provisions you need."

            "Helm's Deep!" exclaimed Gimli with disgust. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their king?"

            "See, this is why you aren't in a position of political power," I told Gimli, narrowly avoiding a large pile of manure. "All of your solutions involve hacking people up into tiny bits."

            "He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," interjected Aragorn, giving me a warning look. I smiled innocently. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past." We walked through a large open doorway into what I assumed were the stables. The mingling scents of hay, manure, and horse wafted into my nostrils and I had the feeling that I would smell like a horse for several days, which isn't a good thing if you're trying to get a guy to notice you.

            "There is no way out of that ravine," Gandalf said bitterly as we walked across the hay-strewn floor, passing a beautiful black horse with a thick shiny mane and sweet brown eyes. "Théoden is walking into a trap."

            "I want one," I informed Legolas, pointing at the horse. He ignored me and held his hand out to a small grey one in the adjacent stall.

            "He thinks he's leading them to safety," continued Gandalf in a low, worried tone as Aragorn opened the gate to Shadowfax's stall for him, "but what he'll get is a massacre." I shivered involuntarily. Legolas was murmuring softly to the grey horse and rubbing its nose softly. "Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan." Another chill went up and down my spine. If _Gandalf_, a wise wizard with Lord knows how many powers, was getting freaked out, then there was definitely something to worry about. The solid comfort I always found in Gandalf's words was slowly slipping away into a stream of fear and doubt. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn," he said to the Ranger quietly and seriously. "The people of Rohan will need you." Aragorn looked back solemnly, his feelings hidden beneath his emotionless countenance. "The defenses have to hold," Gandalf said, looking intensely into Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn nodded softly

            "They will hold," he replied. Gandalf looked at him for a moment, seeming slightly confident at Aragorn's words, the faintest shadow of worry lingering upon his face. He finally turned to Shadowfax (who had remained completely silent for the entire conversation) and placed a hand on his broad back.

            "The Grey Pilgrim," he said, stroking the horse's silky white coat. "That's what they used to call me." He paused. "Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this earth and now I have no time." His gaze became distant, seeming to focus on something invisible to the rest of us. "With luck," he said as Aragorn began to open the stall door, "my search will not be in vain." He climbed upon the Shadowfax's back in one fluid motion.

            "Hey, wait a minute…" I said, crossing my arms across my chest. "Just where do you think you're going? You just got here…we _need_ you…" His eyes twinkled momentarily and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

            "With all hope I will not be gone long…look to my coming at the first light on the fifth day…"

            "_FIVE_ days?" I asked incredulously, my jaw dropping.

            "At dawn, look to the east," he instructed, politely ignoring my little outburst.

            "Go," said Aragorn quietly, tilting his head slightly toward the door.

            "What?" I demanded indignantly. Gandalf took a deep breath and exhaled sharply and Shadowfax took off like a bat out of hell, causing Legolas and Gimli to quickly press themselves against the stalls in order to avoid being trampled.

            "What the—give a guy a staff and suddenly he gets to run all over without telling people where the heck he's going…" I muttered as Gandalf and Shadowfax disappeared from sight.

            "If you hadn't been so late…" Gimli began smugly.

            I rolled my eyes and chose to ignore him.

A/N: New chapter to follow very shortly, I promise. Exciting-ness…heh heh…


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Disclaimer: Well, last time I checked, I don't own LOTR and I certainly didn't get it for my birthday, so I guess all I can do is whine about it for now. Tee hee.

A/N: Oops. Forgot something in the last chapter…I had two asterisks by the name Corin and the little French phrase and I forgot to do a little explanation thing…

*= I hate naming the Rohirrim. They've got Elvish, Dwarvish, and Hobbit name generators, but nothing for the Rohirrim. Anyway, the name Corin was taken from _As You Like It_ by William Shakespeare, which I have never read. Coincidentally, this is also the same play where I got the name Celia. Even more ironic is the fact that there is a character named Orlando…

**= I don't actually speak French; this translation is from a translator site, so forgive me if it's grammatically incorrect.

Chapter Thirty-One

            After Gimli and I spent five productive minutes trading insults and accusing each other of being terminally idiotic, Aragorn decided that he had had enough and separated us with a friendly threat and a well-placed glare in my general direction.

            "We do not have time to linger," he warned through clenched teeth as I smiled innocently in his direction and seriously thought about throwing something at Gimli who was glaring at me and most likely plotting his future revenge. I got quite a nasty little shock as I realized that his vengeance could be in the form of revealing my deep dark secret to Legolas, thus completely ruining my life.

            I silently hoped that he was in a semi-good mood this morning.

            "Haley, stay here and help Legolas prepare the horses for today's journey. Gimli…" He gave the scowling dwarf a look. Gimli grunted. "…you'll come with me. I have some business to attend to." Gimli grunted again and began to shuffle out the doorway, giving me one last glare as an afterthought. "And Haley," Aragorn added, raising his eyebrows in warning, "try not be too much of a nuisance." 

            "I resent that," I replied, narrowing my eyes slightly. Aragorn gave me another look before following Gimli's retreating form out the door. I sighed irritably. "No one respects me…" I muttered to no one in particular. Legolas laughed softly, hiding his smile with the back of his hand. I rolled my eyes. "Okay, you're supposed to know everything, Elf-Boy, so _you_ can figure out what we're supposed to do." Legolas smiled softly and stopped a passing stable hand. He made a few inquiries while I busied myself with petting a grey horse softly on the nose, whisking away the occasional fly.

            "We can take these three horses on the end," Legolas informed me a moment later as the stable hand continued onto his current task, which was, unfortunately for him, mucking out one of the empty stalls. "I am assuming Gimli will not want to ride his own horse," he added. 

            "Yeah. I think that's a good idea," I replied, pushing off from the stall I had been leaning against and falling into step beside Legolas. "Although, it'd be kind of funny to watch…" I continued as he unlatched the stall door of a beautiful chestnut stallion with a splash of white on his nose. He led the horse out of the stall and I soon found myself standing face-to-face with a big horse. It was slightly intimidating, to say the least.

            "Here," said Legolas, handing me a mass of leather cords that appeared to be a bridle of some sort and a large hunk of shaped metal that appeared to be some sort of protective plate for the horse's face. Needless to say, I hadn't the slightest idea what to do, and Legolas had occupied himself with putting the saddle on and didn't seem very aware of my predicament. So I stood there for about five minutes, trying to figure out which end was which and how exactly I was supposed to get the damn thing on the horse.

            "Are you in need of assistance?" I looked up to find Legolas standing with his hands folded over his chest and a bemused expression on his face. I rolled my eyes.

            "No, I'm just doing this for my health," I replied sarcastically, trying to untwist one of the cords that I had managed to turn into a mass of knotted leather. He gently took the bridle from my hands and began to quickly work out the various tangles I had created. Within seconds he had cleaned up the mess I had made and was demonstrating how to put it on properly. I watched carefully and actually got one of the buckles latched correctly. I felt very proud of myself until he picked up the little faceplate thing and began to attach it to the bridle via a very complicated process that completely boggled me.

            "What on earth are you doing?" I asked as he secured another buckle into place.

            "Bring the second loop around," he directed as I fumbled with the cords. "No, the other one…no…here." He came up behind me and brought his arms around so that they were resting on mine. He began to gently guide my fingers through the various loops and buckles, but all I could concentrate on was his warm presence on my back and arms, the way his breath would tickle the back of my neck and ears and give me Goosebumps. I was surprised that I didn't pass out or start giggling like an idiot, or even both (although I'm not sure it's physically possible to do both, but you never know).

            "Like that…" He moved my fingers to secure the buckle and stepped away. I suddenly felt colder and incredibly disappointed that such a nice moment had to end so suddenly. I made an attempt to conceal the crimson blush that had since attacked my face and peered pensively at his handiwork.

            "I still don't get it," I said a moment later, with the hope of maybe getting another lesson, but unfortunately for me, Legolas decided it was a lost cause and demoted me to simply putting on the bridle while he did all the hard work.

            My thoughts on this were as follows: _Dammit_.

A/N: Super short chapter, I know, but I felt that this one stood best on its own. You'll also notice I didn't include the whole Éowyn-kicks-Aragorn's-butt-in-swordfighting-and makes-a-statement-for-women scene. It's one of my favorites, but I felt it would be best left as is. I did that for three reasons: 1). I felt that it was really mostly about the relationship between Éowyn and Aragorn, and I kind of wanted to keep private without Haley intruding, 2). There wasn't really a reason for Haley to be there at that time…I mean, she's not in the real story, but this is fanfic and I won't get into that, LoL, but I didn't feel it effect her enough so that it was necessary for her to be there, and 3). I thought since Éowyn and Aragorn were having a private moment, it's time for a Legolas/Haley intimate type thingy to set the stage for…future events (insert evil laughter here).

A new chapter will be up VERY SOON! 


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a very successful movie director named Peter Jackson. He owned the rights to lots of movies like _Dead Alive_, but most importantly, the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. Many coveted these rights because the movies earned Peter a lot of money and it meant access to hot actors like Orlando Bloom. Now far off in a magical land, there lived an authoress named Blue Kat who greatly desired these rights. But fortunately for her, she wasn't entirely insane and had a relatively firm grasp on reality, so she went off and married Orlando Bloom and rode off into the sunset with him on a horse named Elijah Wood. They had many children (and great sex! I mean…umm…they were dedicated parents…) and they all lived happily ever after, with the exception of Elijah, who deeply resented being called a horse.

A/N: Blarg. I'm sick and it's going into my lungs, so I'm coughing a lot. It sucks. But I've got Jason Mraz's CD on, so it's okay.

Happy National Talk Like A Pirate Day! If you don't know what that is, you should read more Dave Barry columns or get a weird calendar thingy. Argh! Heh heh. Kudos to Reikon who observed this national holiday in her review and made me laugh a lot. Kudos also goes to Satiana who said: "I just hope Legolas isn't the densest thing since concrete in this story," and made me laugh until I started coughing and fell off the chair in a wheezing heap. This is an exaggeration of course, but whatever. Kudos ALSO goes to Ravyn for her very amusing hobbit review. "Um, you're in a tree." Hee hee. Oh and for Rachel: according to Microsoft Word and the dictionary, mystification is a word. No, she's not in love with Gimli, LoL.

Well, not yet.

KIDDING! I'm _totally_ kidding guys, no reason to feel alarmed…please put down those pitchforks and various sharp and pointy objects. Thank you.

Oh, here's an **IMPORTANT PIECE OF INFORMATION:** I was looking at my little mailing list thingy for TTAE updates and I realized that it was time that I updated the list because it has not been updated since the very beginning of the story. So, if you would like me to send you one of my friendly little emails when I update TTAE, please say so in your review and be sure to include your email address. Thanks.

Now, before we get on to the actual chapter, Wind Elf gets a major shout-out and kudos (I like that word) for coming up with this idea. There's a song called "The Truth About Men" (by Tracy Byrd), which I haven't actually heard, but one of the chorus lines is as follows:

'No matter what line we give you,  
When we come crawling in,  
We ain't wrong,  
We ain't sorry,  
And it's probably gonna happen again'

Wind Elf revised the lyrics slightly for Haley and generously offered to let me use them in this chapter. You will be seeing them later in this chapter, obviously, so I won't reveal them at this point in time. Anyway, let's all give a big THANK YOU to Wind Elf along with one of my infamous solid milk chocolate life-size statues of Legolas. Woo hoo!   
  
 

Chapter Thirty-Two

(Dedicated to Wind Elf with many thanks from Blue Kat)

            Altogether, it had been a pretty good day, considering everything. 

            However, Legolas, having decided to make it his personal mission to make my life very uncomfortable, suddenly concluded that it would be a good time to have…

Yup, you guessed it.

 A Sindarin vocabulary quiz. 

            It's very hard to have a major crush on a guy when he insists being annoying as hell.

            "Mountain," he said as I made another futile attempt to shut one of the buckles. We were preparing the last horse, the ebony mare I had admired earlier. She was rather patient at first, but she was beginning to get restless, pawing the ground with her forelegs and occasionally snorting (which was none too pleasant, especially since I was right in the line of fire).

            "Um…hold still, dammit!" I scolded the mare as she attempted to toss her head _again_. She snorted. "I mean it…you're worse than Calatar…HOLD STILL!" She ducked out of my arms and scuffed at the floor with her hooves.

            "Coincidentally, she is one of his progeny. A daughter, I think," Legolas informed me. How he knew this was beyond me. "She's restless," he added, standing up and gently rubbing her shoulder.

            "Must run in the family or something…" I commented. The mare snorted again, remaining still long enough for me to finish the last buckle. "There. I hope you're satisfied," I grumbled to the horse, stepping back so Legolas could attach the infernal faceplate. "What's her name anyway?" I asked.

            "Larien*," he replied. He picked up the faceplate and began to gently attach it to the bridle. Larien immediately calmed under his touch, which was slightly surprising to say the least.

            Then again, he seemed to have the same effect on me, which could mean one of two things: either I'm hopelessly attracted to him or I'm really a horse.

            "How do you _do_ that?" I asked in bewilderment as the mare lowered her head submissively. He shrugged.

            "My father taught me," he explained. "However, I am still waiting for your translation…" I sighed.

            "_Orod_," I responded half-heartedly.

            "Very good," he said, securing the last buckle. "Your pronunciation has improved immensely." I shrugged.

            "Well, since you enjoy exploiting innocent people like me…" My speech was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of Aragorn and Gimli. As far as I could tell, they hadn't really done anything very important other than wander around. However, this evidently didn't bother Aragorn too much.

            "Are the horses ready?" Aragorn asked immediately, which I thought was kind of stupid, as there were three horses _standing right in front of him_ with saddles and bridles and everything. I rolled my eyes.

            "No, Captain Obvious. We were playing dress-up and we never really got around to getting them saddled up," I replied. "It was a lot of fun. You should have stayed; Gimli could have been the princess." Gimli glared at this and Aragorn looked less than thrilled (as usual). _I_ thought it was pretty darn funny, but my opinion on most things isn't often appreciated, so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised. "My God, you all need to get a sense of humor," I said, shaking my head lugubriously. 

            "The horses are ready," Legolas informed them, attempting to be helpful. Aragorn nodded. Gimli, on the other hand, simply glared at me.

            _I don't think he likes being called a princess much…_I thought to myself as I attempted to look innocent. Aragorn shook his head and Gimli continued to glare at me.

            "Well," Aragorn said after a moment, "the King is prepared to leave very soon." With that, he untied the reins of the chestnut stallion from the post I had hooked them on and murmured softly to the horse (apparently, they knew each other) before skillfully climbing onto his broad back. Gimli took a long look at the white one Legolas had claimed as his own before grudgingly allowing himself to be hoisted up by Legolas. I looked skeptically at Larien, who was pawing at the ground impatiently. Taking a deep breath, I approached her cautiously and fitted my foot into the stirrup. I swung myself up onto the saddle, grimacing at the pain in my sore legs. Larien shifted her feet as I attempted to fit my foot into the other stirrup.

            "Stay STILL!" I yelled pulling up on the reins slightly. She snorted indignantly and continued to scuff at the ground.

            "Well, Haley," Aragorn said as I attempted to settle myself, "it seems that you've finally met your match."

            "Yes," Gimli agreed, shaking his head sagely. "They share the same spirit and temperament." I paused in my movements and looked at them dangerously.

            "Okay…you have just compared me to a _HORSE_…do you realize that this makes several violent actions completely justifiable, such as…hmmm…_DROP KICKING YOU BOTH INTO NEXT WEEK_?!" I asked, glaring particularly at Gimli. Aragorn chuckled good-naturedly, and nudged his horse gently and began exiting the stable, his shoulders shaking in laughter.

            "Oh, so you find death threats _funny_?" I questioned, nudging Larien forward. She started quickly, her hooves clapping merrily against the floor. Aragorn continued laughing. I slumped in my saddle, knowing that it was pointless to take this argument further, as all of my companions (including Legolas) found this extremely amusing and were having a grand old time laughing it up at my expense.

            As I rode grumpily into the bright sunlight outside, I was greeted by the sight of what looked to be the entire population of Edoras making their way toward the gates. Small carts filled with baskets of food, weaponry, coarse blankets, and trunks were hauled along the road by scruffy, dirt speckled men. In some cases, a weathered and bony old nag clearly suffering from health problems would be dragging the cart along in place of the men. Flies would swarm around the horse in clouds, the old thing desperately flicking her thin wisp of a tail to chase them away, only to have them land again in another spot farther up her back. The women would carry the smaller bundles on their back or in their arms; their younger children clinging to their free hands, wearing mixed expressions of confusion. Sometimes, the younger children would try to start up a game of some sort; but they were quickly chastised by the adults and forced to walk silently alongside their mothers with solemn faces. It was clear that they did not understand what was going on or why their elders were enveloped in a veil of sorrow and fear. The older children, the ones who understood, trudged along with a small basket or bundle in hand, somber and scared. The older men and women would shuffle alongside the carts, leaning heavily on canes or staffs, carrying very little, their eyes oddly distanced and often teary. Occasionally, we would pass a cart with a person in the back; either the occupant was very sick or very old; it was very hard to tell, as the thin blanket was often drawn up well past their heads. My heart contracted as we passed a little girl clutching a rag doll to her chest and crying quietly as she walked. I felt like such a snob, riding along on a gorgeous horse (who was probably pure-bred as well), with a good and warm set of clothes on my back, and food in my stomach, past these people who had virtually nothing, all of their possessions able to fit into a small wooden cart.

            "Haley!" Legolas suddenly called from behind me. I turned in my saddle.

            "What?" I asked, puzzled.

            "You're veering off the road," he informed me. I turned back around and realized that Larien had decided to take an alternate route and was purposely heading toward what looked to be like a vegetable garden. I jerked the reins to the left and steered her back on course.

            This was one of the reasons why Aunt Kate wasn't so keen for me to drive on my own right away. I had a tendency to space off.

            We passed more depressing scenes of poverty that left me feeling awful and very inclined to do some charity work once the opportunity was available (I doubted that Aragorn would be too pleased if I suddenly stopped in the middle of the road and started offering to cook for people, even if it _was_ for a good cause). Eventually, the distribution of guards and other people I recognized as part of the palace (if you want to call it that) staff increased significantly. As we drew near to the gates of the city, the common folk all but disappeared and armed men took their place.

            We met the King at the gates, sitting proudly atop a white steed with a lot of fancy-schmancy saddle-type stuff that looked particularly royal and special. Aragorn brought his horse up next to Théoden and began conversing with him. I had no idea what they were talking about. I assumed it was kingly stuff, like running the country or wearing a crown or something like that. Either way, I wasn't too interested and directed myself to a more important task, which happened to be annoying Gimli and Legolas.

            "Well guys," I said pulling back softly on the reins to discourage Larien from grazing on a substance that might have once resembled hay, but after being kicked around in the street, looked more like something you'd find living in a sewage drain, "it looks like we're going to have several _looooooong_ days of incredible fun with ME!" I grinned obnoxiously. Gimli sighed heavily.

            "Why don't we start by completing your vocabulary quiz," Legolas suggested, with the slightest grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

            "You are a sadist, did you know that?" I said in reply, glowering slightly.

            "Horse," was his response. I glared.

            "_Roch_," I muttered under my breath.

            Gimli, of course, thought this was the funniest thing since Legolas getting renamed "Lassie."

***

            A very, _very_ long time later, Théoden finally decided that it was time to leave. Apparently, he had been waiting for word from one of the people in charge of organizing this whole excursion (I guess, since he's king and all, all he has to do is lead us to Helm's Deep and look kingly and mighty. I decided to keep this thought to myself). I don't know what took so long, but by the time word was given, Legolas and I had run through his vocabulary list three times _and_ we had gone on to forming actual sentences. This was mostly me saying something like "_I ithil na…_crap, Legolas what's 'bright'?" and Legolas would go into a mini-lecture before supplying me with the actual word, and by that time, I had forgotten what the original sentence was, along with what I had previously translated.

            Needless to say, it was all rather boring. Gimli fell asleep at least three times and I'm pretty certain Larien did as well, because she was quiet for an unusually long period of time. Or she might have gone off to the horse equivalent of the Land of Oz. You could never really tell with her.

            So when word _finally_ came that everything was good to go, I was incredibly elated. Théoden said something kingly to commemorate the occasion (I'm not entirely sure _what_ he was talking about—it might have been fighting for freedom or something valiant like that. But then again, he could have spent ten minutes talking about flying cows that were due to attack Edoras in six hours time and I wouldn't have noticed).

            Théoden then mightily nudged his horse forward and began what would later end up being a very long journey. I gave the stirrups a good push and Larien jumped into motion, prancing along like some sort of prize pony.

            Thus began our expedition. It doesn't sound very exciting, and for the first day or so, it wasn't. I had assumed that Helm's Deep really wasn't that far from Edoras, but after an hour or so of riding, I realized that it was a lot farther away than I had originally anticipated. The worst part was that we continued at a pace that is normally associated with turtles and handicapped butterflies. Of course, it took Larien a while to realize this, so she pranced for quite awhile before it became blatantly obvious that we were not going to be going any faster any time soon.

            After an hour of riding at a tediously slow gait, Gimli decided to get down, claiming that he could walk faster than we were going. So it was soon just Legolas and I, riding side-by-side. He had given up on the Sindarin when I started to threaten to go completely insane, so we rode in silence, save for the occasional "Haley, you're drifting again." I grew bored very quickly and soon came to my last entertainment resort.

"The wheels on the bus go round and round," I sang softly under my breath. Legolas looked at me in either confusion at my sudden musical outburst or shock at my lack of musical talent. I ignored him and continued. "Round and round. Round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town…" I thought of something and grinned slyly. "The Dwarf on the bus goes 'Shut your trap! Shut your trap! Shut your trap!' The Dwarf on the bus goes 'Shut your trap!' all through the town…" Legolas smiled softly. I grinned and continued. "The Elf on the bus goes 'Translate this! Translate this! Translate this!' The Elf on the bus goes 'Translate this!' All through the town!" Legolas gave me another look, seeming slightly annoyed, but rather amused as well. "The Ranger on the bus goes 'I'm the boss! I'm the boss! I'm the boss!' The Ranger on the bus goes 'I'm the boss!' All through the town!" I thought for several moments, struggling to think of some other lyrics with three syllables to describe someone else. I was unable to think of anything and decided to move onto another song. "Ev'ry night in my dreams, I see you…I feeeeeeeeeeeeeel you…" I began, trying my best Celine Dion impression, which, judging from the expression on Legolas' face was _not_ very good. "That is how I know you…gooooo onnnnnnnn…" I made a dramatic sweep with my right arm and tried to look pained and teary. "Faaaaaaarrrr across the distance, and spacessssssss betweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen us! You have come to show you goooo onnnnnnn…" I took a deep breath and prepared to really belt it out. "Neeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr!" Several heads turned in my direction, including Aragorn, who looked mildly disturbed, to say the least. "Wherevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvver you are! I beeeeelieve that the heart does gooooo onnnnnnnnnnnn.…" 

            "Is that necessary?" demanded Gimli from where he was walking behind me. I turned to him and let a fake sob out of my throat.

            "Onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnce mooooooooooooooooore! You oooooooooooooooooooooopen the door! And yoooooooooou'reeeeeee heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere in my heart and my heart will gooooo onnnnn and onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!"

            "That's _enough_!" Gimli barked, interrupting what would have been a phenomenal version of verse two. And by phenomenal, I mean ear-splittingly awful to a point where you want to hurt someone.

            I gave him a few minutes to calm down before quietly starting up again. "I know a song that gets on EVERYBODY'S NERVES! EVERYBODY'S NERVES! EVERYBODY'S NERVES! I know a song that gets on EVERYBODY'S NERVES and this is how it goes! Verse one! I know a song…" It took about three or four times before both Legolas and Gimli both realized that it was the same obnoxious verse over and over and OVER again (Aragorn was content to shoot the occasional evil look back in my direction. I grinned and waved in response). I quickly switched to "This Is The Song That Never Ends" but Gimli vetoed that before I got through half the first verse.

            "Even in myyyy he-arrrt, I seeeeee…" I sang, busting out an old song from my teenybopper days (circa fourth through sixth grade). "You're not beeeeing true to meeeeee! Deep within my soooul…I feel…nothin's like it used to beeeeeeeeee! Sometimes I wish I coullllllld…turn ba-ack time…impossible as it may seeeeeeem…but I wish I cooooooould soooooo baaddddddd…bay-ay-baaaaaaayyy…quit playin' games with my heart! (Before you tear us apart!) Quit playin' games with my heart! I should've known from the staaaaaaaart!"

            "I've had enough of that one too," Gimli informed me grumpily. He didn't like "As Long As You Love Me", "I Want It That Way", or "Shape of My Heart" much either.

            Strangely enough, he didn't have much of a problem with N'Sync or Aaron Carter (I am not to blame for knowing any of the songs by those two particular artists…my good friend Laura listened to them virtually non-stop for several years, so after being forced to listen to both of their CD's over seven hundred trillion times, I know the lyrics to most of their songs, despite the fact that I really didn't enjoy them at all).

            After awhile, I decided that it was time to switch to a different type of music. I settled on country.

            "Mary-Ann and Wanda were the best of friends, all through their high school da-ays…" I crooned. "Both members of the 4-H Club, both active in the FFA…" I got to the chorus before Gimli ordered me to change songs because it disturbed him greatly. I think it had something to do with the fact that "Earl…had to die!" I argued that it was a great song, but he wouldn't have any of it.

            "I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean! Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens!" "I Hope You Dance" got the same reception as "My Heart Will Go On" did from Gimli, so I was quickly forced to change songs (it might have had something to do with my obnoxious use of a very fake and poorly done Southern accent). So I sat there thinking for a while when I suddenly felt inspired to create my own lyrics. 

            "No matter what line you give me…" I began. "when you come crawling in…you _are_ wrong, you _better be_ sorry, and it's probably _not_ going to happen agaaaaain…_RIGHT _Aragorn?" Aragorn looked back at me in annoyance, distributing yet another one of his infamous death looks.

            "That's _IT_!" Gimli exclaimed angrily. "NO MORE SINGING!"

            I couldn't have continued anyway, as I was laughing so hard that it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

***

            After many, many hours of incessant rambling and chatter from me, Legolas decided that I needed to walk for a while. I think that his main intention was to preserve Gimli's dwindling patience, but I saw it as more of an opportunity to return the circulation and feeling to my legs. I swung down from Larien's saddle and promptly fell right on my ass, which made Gimli laugh. Legolas helped me up and quickly directed me to the front part of the line, most likely to avoid more unnecessary bickering between Gimli and myself. I managed to call Gimli a stupid loser before Legolas gently shoved me in the other direction, which was not a very good idea because I was leading Larien (and he had his own horse as well) around by the reins, and the last thing I needed was to be trapped under a very large horse.

            "This has certainly turned out to be a rather long day," he said to me once we were out of earshot. I raised an eyebrow.

            "Oh _really_, Elf-Boy," I replied as we passed Aragorn and Éowyn. I grinned cheekily in his direction and he responded with an exasperated look. I made a face and continued onward. "I could always start singing again."

            "That's not necessary," he answered quickly. I huffed and turned my head, pretending to be incredibly insulted.

            "No one appreciates my talents!" I exclaimed, wiping away an imaginary tear. Legolas smiled slightly and shook his head.

            We continued like this for a while in a companionable silence, which was occasionally broken by Legolas to alert me to the fact that I was drifting again. 

            "It's true you don't see many dwarf women," I overheard Gimli telling Éowyn later that day. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, they are often mistaken for dwarf men!" 

            "It's the beards," I heard Aragorn explain softly. I snorted and Legolas looked at me oddly.

            "Listen…" I gasped between giggles.

            "And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women! And dwarves just, spring out of holes in the ground!" Gimli continued. I heard Éowyn laugh heartily in response. I chortled and Legolas looked slightly amused. "Which is of course ridiculous," Gimli continued with a chuckle. His laugh suddenly escalated to a shout and a horse carrying a very flustered dwarf suddenly streaked past me. Gimli quickly lost his balance and fell off the horse and onto the ground with an audible thump.

            _Serves him right for laughing at me…_I thought to myself. Revenge is sweet…

            "It's alright! It's alright!" he insisted from the ground as Èowyn rushed forward to help him. I couldn't control my amusement and immediately started laughing, not bothering to cover my mouth with my hand. "Nobody panic. That was deliberate. It was deliberate," he continued as Èowyn attempted to help him up (not doing a very good job of controlling her laughter, I might add). Legolas started laughing softly after the dwarf's last exclamation, and I continued to emit many chortles that eventually turned into guffaws.

            God, I wish I had a video camera.

***

            We finally stopped for camp as dusk began to turn into evening. By that time, my legs were very sore from the combined effects of riding and walking and I was all too glad to hand Larien over to one of the guys in charge of feeding and watering the horses.

            "I am in so much pain," I announced to Aragorn, plopping down on the ground next to him. I rummaged around in my pack and found one of the little _lembas_ packets I had swiped when Aragorn wasn't looking. I broke off a piece of the already crushed wafer and chewed thoughtfully.

            "Yet you still find the energy to sing," he commented, watching Gimli colorfully argue with one of the guards over something. Knowing him, it was probably something stupid.

            "Aren't I amazing?" I asked, brushing the crumbs off my fingers. Aragorn opened his mouth to say something. "That was a rhetorical question. No comments from you," I replied. He smiled and soon spaced off. My guess is he was thinking about weapons, or something like that.

            For dinner that night we had dried meat (which had the consistency and taste of leather), cold potatoes, bread, apples, and carrots that looked rather faded and old. I gave my carrots to Larien, who didn't seem to have a problem with it at all—but she also tried to eat my fingers and part of my tunic, so it could have tasted like a dead beetle for all I know. I gave my three apples (Gimli didn't want his and I had received two as my ration for no particular reason) to a family that was camping by us. They accepted them graciously, despite the fact that they had a whole basket in their cart (which I didn't notice until much later). Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid.

            Most of the men had already decided that they were going to stay up for a long time and talk about defense tactics and all sorts of fun stuff. I was already feeling drowsy and had absolutely no interest in hearing every possible outcome of every possible situation, so I decided to turn in early (I was also trying to avoid another Sindarin lesson, but never mind). I placed Aragorn and Legolas in charge of watching my pack, rolled out my sleeping roll, and crawled inside. I had folded up both of my cloaks to form a makeshift pillow and I soon fell into a very light sleep.

***

            I woke sometime later in the night to Aragorn's voice. Most of the camp had since gone to sleep, save for the handful of guards standing watch. Aragorn had dozed off against a rock, pipe still smoking in his hand. I rolled my eyes. Next time he tries to talk to me about being responsible, he's getting one upside the head.

            "I am asleep," he was saying to someone. "This is a dream." I laughed quietly into my so-called pillow, trying to keep my voice down. He then started speaking in Elvish. I thought maybe after awhile he would shut up, but that didn't happen. Drastic times call for drastic measures…

            I crept out of my sleeping roll, sliding my stocking feet into my boots before tiptoeing over and hitting him a couple of times with my folded cloaks. He grunted in his sleep, rolled over, and was quiet save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

            _Good. He's still breathing,_ I thought to myself as I carefully extinguished his still-smoking pipe. I tiptoed back to my sleeping roll, slipped out of my boots, and crawled back in, intent on getting a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

            "May I ask what on earth you were doing?" inquired a voice. I rolled over to find Legolas quietly sitting nearby, his bow and arrows within easy reach. I blushed. Whoops.

            "He was talking in his sleep and he wouldn't shut up," I explained, drawing the blankets up to my chin. "And he left his pipe burning. I had to do _something_…"

            "You talk in your sleep quite often…" he informed me. I colored immediately.

            "Really?" I said, feigning nonchalance. "Um, what exactly have I said?" Panic was rising in my throat. It would be just like me to reveal all my secrets when I was sleeping…

            "Usually nonsense," he replied. Relief flushed through my veins and I could suddenly breathe a whole lot easier. "I believe you once said something about Gimli turning into a fish. And another time you muttered something about Gandalf wearing a pink dress." He took a breath and paused for a moment. "You've also…spoken about your aunt several times," he continued hesitantly. "And after Gandalf fell…you would mention him or call out his name…" He trailed off and looked at me pensively. 

            "So…why hasn't anyone mentioned this to me before?" I asked, trying to avoid his gaze. He shrugged.

            "It never came up…Aragorn mentioned something about using it to threaten you at a later date," he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I rolled my eyes.

            "You're all a bunch of dorks," I informed him. "I'm going back to sleep, and you should too. It's late and we have another day of fun riding ahead." I grinned obnoxiously at this last part.

            "I will wait an hour more," he said. I shrugged, figuring that was the best I could get out of him.

            "Well, if you say so," I replied, stifling a yawn. "Goodnight." I put my head down on the pillow and shut my eyes.

            "Goodnight, Haley," he murmured softly. Warmth spread throughout my body, all the way to the tips of my fingers and I knew it had nothing to do with my sleeping roll.

            Sometime later, I cracked an eye open. Legolas was still up, staring off into the distance. I shut my eyes.

            "Why is Legolas dressed as a giant fruitcake and dancing the hokey-pokey?" I muttered sleepily.

            "Very funny, Haley," I heard Legolas reply. I laughed and pulled my sleeping roll tight around my shoulders. Soon, the noises around me began to dim as I drifted off into a light, dreamless, and hopefully speechless sleep.

A/N: * = Horse's name was taken from an Elvish name generator. I thought it was pretty.

Well, while I was writing this, my brother's friend came with the lid to the ice bucket on his head and informed me that he had just graduated from college. My brother then came in with the actual ice bucket on his and said that he was British. They also threatened my rubber duck bank (Albert) with imaginary guns. Then they were pretending my Nesting Dolls were smuggling people in and out of Cuba and the US.

Annnnd….I just walked into the family room to find them singing. Yes singing. About what you might ask? Meats. The song goes something like this:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

Liver tastes like liver,

Liver, liver, liver!

Gee, I'd like some liver please!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….

Next verse!

It's the "Song That Never Ends" in the poultry department, only worse, because neither of them is on key. But the worst part is that you can hear it _all around the house_. I'm turning up my CD.

Crap. They've come to my room for a special performance. This must be why they have the maximum volume on CD players. 

So if this chapter seems weird, I blame it on them. I'm trying to recover from the fact that I share the same gene pool with one of them…although, that might explain a couple things…

All the songs in this chapter belong to their appropriate artists…with the exception of Wind Elf's revised lyrics to "The Truth About Men" and my revised lyrics to "Wheels on the Bus." Otherwise, it's not mine, don't sue, I don't have any money anyway.

Hope this chapter was long enough (about 11 pages). You guys rock! Review!


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

Disclaimer: I asked my cat if I owned LOTR. He stared at me and then closed his eyes and went back to sleep. I'm pretty sure that translates to something along the lines of "No. I want food. Feed me."

A/N: Well, this chapter would have been up sooner, had it not been for the fact that it's been rather difficult to write. Anyway…

Does anyone remember the good old days on ff.net? When the music group categories were still up and they let the occasional actor fic be posted in the LOTR section? I've been cleaning out my hard drive and transferring files to my laptop (which I have to use for school—they think it will help if I type my notes in class rather than write them—so now I'll just get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and die—well, probably not die…sorry, me and my irrational fears again…) and I found the very first fic I posted on ff.net. It was called _That Summer and it was a Backstreet Boys fic—not a very well-written one mind you (I've just reread it and in some parts __I'm not sure what I was talking about), but it bears sentimental value for me. Anyway, I got to reminiscing about how the site used to be before they banned lists, interactive fics, the music group fics, and messed with other parts of the site. Sigh. I wish they'd reverse their policies, but I guess there's not a lot I can do about it except sigh wistfully with a far off look in my eye. Well, maybe not to that extreme, but you get the idea._

Thank you all for the fabulous reviews! You all rock! Ah…reviews make me giddy…particularly because we're nearing the 500 mark. Gasp! (puts a hand to her forehead and faints overdramatically).

Oh…quick shout-out type thing—to Ashes Kittyhawk: Sorry I made you choke on your water! Don't sue! Just kidding! At least it didn't get on the screen! And Ravyn: nooo…it doesn't have _anything_ to do with my driving abilities (shifty eyes). I'm a good driver! I brake for squirrels!

The time issue—as far as I can tell, it took about three days to get to Helm's Deep from Edoras and the battle with the Wargs occurred on the third day. Please let me know if I've grossly over or underestimated (or misunderestimated, if you're the president…sorry, couldn't resist the Bushism…). I swear, someone needs to write a LOTR guide for fanfic writers because this time thing is confusing…

ALSO: Regarding Helm's Deep (cue dramatic music)…PJ and Company took some liberties with the plot (i.e. the Elves coming to save the day and Haldir dying). I'm keeping the Elves in because they rock and using the script and movie for battle sequences is one heck of a lot easier than trying to use the book. ANYWAY, I've received several pleas (mostly from Sephoria) to use my Mighty Authoress Powers and let Haldir live. So, I thought I'd put it up for you all to decide: should Haldir die (cue tortured sobs from Haldir fan girls) or live (cue cheers from previously distraught fan girls) in this fic?

Haldir: I have fan girls?

Kat: Well, Hal, it appears that every male in LOTR (especially elves) has some sort of cult following of obsessively devoted fan girls (maybe with the exception of Gimli, but anything's possible…), so I'm guessing that you do too.

Haldir: Yay! Wait till I tell Legolas! (skips off screaming "I'm going to get glomped!")

Kat: …Well, that was rather disturbing…

Correction: Whoops. Wind Elf has since changed her name to Piratess of the Caribbean. Sorry about that. I need to pay more attention. Anyway, her lyrics still rock and all that good stuff. Sorry again!

Okay, I gotta say it: GO CUBBIES! WOO HOO!

[EDIT (OCTOBER 16): Dammit. WHY? One game! Just one! Well it's not like I wasn't warned. Oh well…maybe next year. So…my support goes to the Red Sox (who will hopefully win tonight. Knock on wood).]

[EDIT (OCTOBER 17): Dammit! WHY? WHY DO ALL MY TEAMS HAVE TO LOSE?!?!?! Arghhhhhhhhh…this is crazy…they were winning! Damn. Well…I normally don't care about these things…but it was the Cubs and the Red Sox…I wish the Bulls would get their act together. They kicked ass in '98. Why do Chicago sports teams have to suck? Okay, I'm done. Onto the fic… 

WARNING: For those faint of heart…Haley uses the f-word. Once. But I thought I should mention it just in case.

Chapter Thirty-Three

            The second day of our journey passed uneventfully—in fact, I believe that I would have received the same amount of mental stimulation had I decided to sleep through the entire day rather than plodding along at Legolas' side, regularly complaining about everything within a ten foot radius. Consequently, Gimli and I bickered constantly, the subject usually being something ridiculously stupid (as in I was laughing too frequently or too loudly, an infraction that Gimli felt was punishable by death or something equally unpleasant). Legolas was often forced to act as a mediator in these delicate situations and his so-called solutions can be summed down to: "Gimli, put the axe down. Haley, I need to speak with you for a moment." The both of us would then take an extended leave of absence from Gimli (apparently Legolas has not yet been informed that a moment traditionally lasts a little over a minute) so he could deliver a quiet lecture without Gimli's unhelpful interruptions. I would listen for about three minutes before my mind started to wander, floating briefly back to reality only when Legolas gently tugged on my sleeve and demanded to know if I was listening. 

He really needs to stop asking stupid questions.

            Aragorn was oddly detached throughout the entire day, rarely bothering to throw a look of reproach in my direction, which was highly unusual to say the least. Instead, he stared quietly off into the distance, his eyes focused on something visible only to him, his hand often resting on the crystal pendant he wore about his neck. Even if I hadn't already known that it had previously belonged to Arwen, I would have been able to make that conclusion solely by his rather sappy expression, which was slightly reminiscent of "My Little Pony". 

I stared intently at the horizon as Legolas yakked on. It was the first time in months that I had really given much thought to Arwen—during that time she had quietly and almost unnoticeably slipped into the part of my mind filled with the faces of those who were once a large part of my life. The sight of the pendant had suddenly brought about the stunning, yet glaringly obvious realization that Aragorn had been bearing this grief for the past few months without comment. It struck me as both odd and stupid that I had never noticed before. I had come to think of Aragorn as totally devoted to the quest for the Ring and not possessing any other personal issues. He must have thought about Arwen every day and I don't doubt that he dreamt mostly of her at night. It was difficult to imagine the amount of pain this separation caused and nearly impossible to determine how he managed to keep it to himself.

            Then again, it would probably help if I paid closer attention…

            I glanced up at Aragorn again and tried to subtly get a closer look without attracting the attention of both him and Legolas. There was a noticeable change in his eyes that was nagging at me incessantly. For one of the first times ever, I could see through the walls he had so carefully built around himself—it was like I was watching his heart break over and over again through the windows of his eyes, a ceaseless cycle that could move even the hardest of heart. Worried, concerned, and generally troubled by this display, I tapped him on the knee (Mr. Lecturer of Tedious Doom and I had been walking alongside him for quiet some while).

            "Hey," I said quietly. He started slightly in his saddle. I regarded him thoughtfully before continuing, "Are you okay?" He relaxed slightly at this, his eyes clouding over in that familiar veil that I had always incorrectly assumed was normal. He offered a weak smile.

            "I…I'm rather tired…" he replied unconvincingly. I nodded hesitantly and made an attempt at a consoling smile.

            "Well…uh…if you need to talk or anything…" I trailed off. It was extremely bizarre trying to offer help and support to someone who had appointed himself as my own personal mentor (I'm still not sure why—safety issues and preservation of sanity, most likely). He nodded softly in response

            "Thank you," he said, patting me on the head as an afterthought. I tried my best sympathetic smile again, but I felt like some sort of Disney cartoon character on drugs (specifically Bambi) and decided that it was best to just look concerned and leave it at that. There would be no getting through to him, especially if I scared the crap out of him with odd faces.

            Legolas suddenly cleared his throat rather noisily and raised his eyebrows disapprovingly in my direction. I immediately recalled that he had sort of been in the middle of a sentence when I had started talking to Aragorn. Oops.

            "Um…hi!" I tried, grinning widely in attempt to prove my innocence. "You know, this isn't what it looks like." He raised an eyebrow again, completely unconvinced. "I was really paying attention to what you were saying…I was just distracted for a moment…or two…" I smiled again. "Really, I was," I added for effect.

            "You were not," he replied, uninfluenced by the unelaborated lie I had spontaneously constructed. There is just no appreciation for true art these days.

            "Yes I was," I insisted, nodding enthusiastically, hoping for once that the Jedi Mind Trick really worked.

            It was a losing argument and the Force had apparently abandoned me. Legolas eventually beat me into submission through torture (i.e. constant eyebrow raising and giving me that little look of his). As punishment, I was forced to endure another ten-minute lecture on my short attention span complete with helpful hints and friendly advice from Aragorn (who, as far as I'm concerned, should've stuck with his ruminations and kept his big mouth shut). Eventually, they both came back to my tendency to pick fights with Gimli, which they avidly discussed for the better part of the hour. In the end, they came to the conclusion that I needed to behave myself, lay off the sarcasm, and pay more attention. At least I _think_ that was the gist of it. I was busy debating whether or not to bring about my revenge in the form of song and dance at the time of their discussion, and that alone is distracting enough without having to actually listen to what was being said.

***

            The next morning dawned bright and clear, the air cold enough to feel sharp and fresh in my lungs, but warm enough to get away with wearing lighter clothing. The brightness of the early morning sun and the pleasantly cool air promised a good day ahead.

            Too bad Gimli had to go and ruin it.

            I admit that it _was_ partially my fault, but it wasn't at all intentional. I would like to stress that _Gimli was the one who woke up in his usual cheerful mood that is often associated with irate mountain lions. Our disagreement broke out over a milk spillage I had accidentally caused at breakfast. Now, a sane person would be a little annoyed, but able to shrug off the incident as a mere attack of klutziness and not become homicidal. Needless to say, Gimli is not a normal person nor is he completely sane, and therefore his reaction was completely irrational, or in other words, stupid. Since most of the milk ended up in his lap, he saw this as cause enough for nuclear war._

            "Gimli…friend…buddy…pal…" I said to the disgruntled Dwarf, trying to ignore the growing ache in my head. My monthly friend had arrived that morning in all its glory and I was feeling hideously bloated and incredibly crabby. "I'm sorry that I got milk all over you. But you have to realize _it was an accident_."

            "It was deliberate!" he retaliated, glaring fiercely at me as he wiped at the spill with a napkin. Anger and general bitchiness boiled in my stomach (or maybe it was just the porridge) and I fought to remain calm.

            "It. Was. An. Accident," I replied through clenched teeth, twisting my shirt in my hands.

            "I'll have none of your lies!" Gimli snapped, throwing the napkin down and smashing it beneath his boot. "It was intentional!"

            _Breathe deeply…count to ten before you say anything… I told myself, sucking air in through clenched teeth. __One…two…three…four—what the— screw it! That little twerp just called me a liar!_

            That was about the point when the Big Mean Menstrual Monster took charge of things. Our argument quickly escalated into a shouting match as I started slinging insults. Gimli retaliated by shouting back until his face grew red with anger. Our quarrel was quickly and rather unexpectedly ended by Aragorn when he loudly declared that he needed Gimli's help elsewhere. He frowned at me as he calmly took the Dwarf's arm and forcefully yanked him along. Legolas took the hint and oh-so-conveniently remembered that I had promised to help him saddle up the horses (which is a bunch of crap, but he wasn't listening to me at that point). We departed with Gimli calling me a "lying, good-for-nothing, idiot Elf" and me replying that he was just a "stupid midget with PMS and a brain the size of a walnut." I had wanted to add that his beard looked like a dead squirrel, but Legolas, having decided that he heard enough, firmly clamped his hand over my mouth before I could do more damage.

            Which, despite the circumstances was kind of nice.

            "He started it," I insisted once Legolas released his hand. "I _apologized and he starts acting like a friggin'…" Legolas silenced me with a wave of his hand. I grumbled irritably._

            "I think you've done enough talking for the time being," he replied once I stopped talking. I sighed and fumed in silence, occasionally grumbling aloud.

            "One Midol! Just one! Is that so much to ask?" I demanded sometime later. Legolas looked at me curiously before shaking his head, no doubt deciding that it was better _not to ask._

***

            Aragorn appeared some time later while Legolas and I were saddling up the horses (or rather, I handed him stuff while he did most of the work that required actual thinking). The Ranger's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and the corners of his mouth pointed downward, suggesting that he was more than a little stressed. However, I couldn't really blame him, seeing as he had just spent half an hour with an angry Dwarf.

            "Haley," he began tiredly. I sighed.

            "Okay, I know that I was _maybe_ a little out of line saying some of the things I did, but I was totally provoked…" I interrupted, gesturing wildly with my hands. After having a little time to cool down and reflect on what had transpired, I had determined that I might not have reacted in the best way possible, despite the fact that I _did have some snappy comebacks._

            However, I still blamed Gimli for pretty much everything.

            "Haley," he repeated, holding up a hand to discourage further interruption on my part. I reluctantly shut my mouth and waited for him to continue. "You will not be _anywhere near Gimli today. You will be spending your time near the front of the procession so that you might do something useful. I would have that you reflect on your actions so that you might not be so rash in the future." He was clearly disappointed in me, and despite my tendency not to give a horse's ass about things like authority and what others thought about me, I was embarrassed. I guess it was mostly because Aragorn obviously wasn't having such a great time yesterday and I felt bad for causing him to go through unnecessary stress._

            "I'm sorry," I offered after a moment. Aragorn looked at me contemplatively for a moment before placing a hand on my shoulder.

            "No apology is necessary," he replied. "However, you _do_ owe one to Master Gimli and I expect you to have made amends by nightfall." I hesitated before nodding reluctantly, hoping that he'd give up and leave me alone so I could fume in peace. He smiled slightly and gently squeezed my shoulder and spoke briefly with Legolas before departing and leaving us to the horses.

            "Let me guess," I said as soon as Aragorn had left. "I have another fun-filled day of Legolas to look forward to." I picked up one of the saddle blankets lying on the ground, absentmindedly picking at the dead yellow grass that had clung to the wool.

            "Essentially, yes," Legolas replied, taking the blanket from my hands and gently smoothing it over the horse's back.

            "Could we at least forgo the whole Sindarin part?" I asked hopefully as I bent down to retrieve the saddle, nearly dropping it twice in the process. He shook his head.

            "No."

            "Why not?" I inquired, shifting the bulky weight in my arms.

            "Punishment," he replied with a hint of a smile. "Aragorn suggested it." I groaned and he laughed softly. I held out the saddle for him to take.

            "You're both insufferable."

***

            The worst part of the whole ordeal was that we had to walk because Gimli had decided he wanted to be a pain in the butt and insist upon riding Legolas' horse (I don't know why, seeing as he hates riding with a passion). So I reluctantly plodded alongside Legolas, leading Larien by the reins and speaking only to translate something from Sindarin into English or vice versa. I'd occasionally say something in French just to be annoying (like "You are wearing a blue hat" or "It is raining outside. Would you care for an umbrella?"). I thought it was pretty funny, but the amusement started to wear off when he started saying things about _me_ in Sindarin or some other obscure form of Elvish.

            The hours passed tediously in one big blur of Sindarin, which was not very pleasant, mind you. I walked almost in a half-sleep, responding only when asked a question. In short, it was incredibly boring, despite the fact that I was spending a large amount of time with a person I found very attractive.

            It wasn't until about midday when Legolas stopped asking questions altogether. Instead he concentrated on the landscape surrounding us, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth across the horizon.

            "What's wrong with you?" I asked after several minutes of this unexplained silence. He didn't respond right away and continued to search the surroundings meticulously with his keen azure eyes. He then halted unexpectedly, causing me to trip and almost fall, which started Larien slightly. She snorted indignantly and pawed at the ground.

            "I do not know," he said finally as I attempted to untangle myself from the reins. "Something draws near…" I nearly dropped the reins as a shudder ran up and down my spine. The last time he had said something similar we had been ambushed by Uruk-Hai and lost about half of our party. My grip on the reins tightened and my heartbeat increased steadily.

            "What is it?" I asked as I transferred the reins to my left hand as I instinctively reached for the hilt of my sword. He shook his head and listened intently for a moment.

            "I do not know…" he repeated.

            "Well, what do we do? I mean we can't just stand here like a bunch of idiots…" I felt a sense of foreboding mixed with my general paranoid nature.

            "Wait…" he said, silencing me as two guardsmen rode forward. They too had evidently noticed whatever had tipped Legolas off in the first place and were cautiously peering at their surroundings, tightening their grip on their reins as they narrowed their eyes at the rocky cliffs around them. One of the horses whinnied shrilly, tossing its head defiantly, and refused to go further. Larien suddenly stiffened and snorted loudly, the whites of her dark eyes visible. A sudden uneasiness gripped me. Larien possessed what appeared to be an incredibly tiny amount of actual intelligence and the fact that a horse that not only has the common sense of a cupcake but also routinely tried to consume substances that are not meant to be ingested, was significantly frightened by a lurking enemy scared the heck out of me.

            "What is it?" one of the guardsmen asked over the horse's snorts and whinnies. "Hama?"

            "I'm not sure…" the other replied uneasily.

            It happened without warning, before I or anyone else could find the words to warn them of the shadow high upon the rocks. There was a snarl and the all-too-familiar skin-crawling screech of an Orc as the shadow sprung forth from the rocks up above. Unfortunately, the rogue Orc was not alone. It was perched atop a beast I had never seen before. It struck me as a slightly prehistoric combination of a hyena and a pit bull, with a large hunch in its back and large and bulky paws that appeared to hinder it slightly in the accuracy of its movements. Its face reminded me of a pug—its nose was slightly pushed inward, like it had run head on into a cement wall or something. Yellowed fangs glinted dangerously as it snapped at the empty air and coarse brown fur covered the entire expanse of its body, spiked in long tufts at its spine. The Orc was riding it like a horse, kicking it sharply as it made its quick descent down the rocks.

            They were upon the guardsmen in seconds, slamming forcefully into the one called Hama. His horse was knocked over, most likely dead, and he was thrown to the ground several feet away. The creature snapped and growled while drool dripped from its horrible fangs as it made its way toward the fallen man, who was paralyzed with terror. I turned away as his horrible screams echoed through the air.

            "Stay here," Legolas instructed, taking off before I could protest. Even though I resented the fact that he thought I couldn't handle it, fear and shock had me so paralyzed that at that point, I doubt I would have been able to do anything useful.

            Hama's cries suddenly ceased and my stomach contracted in horror. 

"Wargs!" shouted the remaining guardsman as he exchanged blows with the Orc. I hesitantly looked up just as Legolas released an arrow. The furred creature quickly fell to the ground with a strangled cry as the arrow found its mark in its heart. The Orc was flung to the ground several feet away. Now defenseless, it screamed in terror as Legolas drew near. Its cry was soon ended with a flick of a silver-bladed knife.

            "A scout!" Legolas shouted to Aragorn, who had suddenly appeared at the top of the hill. He nodded and ran back down the other side as Legolas angrily kicked the lifeless body aside.

            "What is it? What do you see?" I heard Théoden shout worriedly.

            "Warg! We're under attack!" Aragorn yelled in reply. Screams and cries of adults and children alike quickly erupted in the air, the fear almost tangible. 

            "Haley!" Legolas shouted suddenly. I snapped out of my trance. "Get on the horse! Hurry!" I suddenly realized the gravity and urgency of the situation and quickly stuffed my foot in the stirrup and hoisted myself up into the saddle.

            "All riders to the head of the column!" I heard Théoden yell over the din. I grasped the reins tightly in my hand.

            "Be careful!" Legolas called as he ran off, most likely in search for the rest of the mounted Orc army. I got that familiar tweak in my stomach at the sound of those words despite the fact that he probably meant it simply as a friendly gesture. But it was enough.

            "What the…this romance stuff is going to be the death of me," I muttered, shaking myself out of the sappy stupor I had fallen into. I gave Larien a sharp nudge and she shot up the hill.

            The other side was complete mayhem, with women and children running every which way and the riders trying to make their way to the front. The noise had reached a spectacular level and the air was filled with screams and cries as fear set in.

"C'mon, get me up here, I'm a rider!" I heard Gimli growl. I looked up and saw a   handful of guardsmen attempting to lift him up onto a horse. _Since when?_ I thought to myself as he nearly fell off, provoking a shadow of a smile to tug at the corners of my lips. However, all traces of amusement quickly vanished as the faint sound of barking and howling reached my ears.

            "You must lead the people to Helm's Deep," an authoritative voice close to my ear said. I turned around abruptly, wondering who in their right mind would trust me for a minute with something so important. I breathed a sigh of relief once I realized that the comment was directed at Éowyn. "And make haste." The speaker was Théoden, who had somehow managed to evade my attention in all the confusion.

            Then again, that's not too hard in the first place…

            "I can fight!" protested Éowyn, sticking her chin out defiantly.

            "No!" Théoden responded, seeming slightly put out with his niece. Éowyn regarded him coolly and then shot a pointed look in my direction. I pretended to be incredibly interested in the reins, which probably didn't show off my competence, but there weren't a whole lot of other options. I felt a twinge of pity for her, seeing as she was being forced to stay behind; I would have gladly traded places with her, but I had no idea where Helm's Deep was, so I probably would have been more of a hindrance rather than an aide. "You must do this," Théoden said in a quieter tone. "For me." She turned from him, relaxing her hold on her horse. He seemed to take this as an act of submission and turned shouting "Follow me!" I risked a pitying look back at Éowyn before starting forward. She regarded me with an unreadable expression before turning away. Sighing, I gave Larien a nudge and merged with the team of riders heading forward into battle. I fell into place beside Aragorn, who gave me a weak smile before urging his horse onward. Éowyn's cries of instruction slowly faded as we rode onward to meet our foes.

            As we climbed the hill, I heard an arrow sing as it flew through the air and distant canine howl as its deadly deed was done. Legolas slowly came into view, his bow drawn and arrows flying. As we mounted the crest of the hill, I could see the Orcs and wolfish creatures (or Wargs, as Aragorn and the other guardsman had called them) filling the valley below. I caught a glimpse of feet flying up in the air out of the corner of my eye, and for a moment I panicked, assuming Legolas had been run over in our advancing procession. However, it soon became clear that he had somehow managed to sling himself up onto his horse, without doing injury to himself or Gimli (who had been guiding the horse with an astounding lack of skill). 

            I made a mental note to later ask Legolas how the hell he did that and why didn't he teach me something useful like that instead of Sindarin.

            As Larien galloped onward with the other horses, it soon became clear to me that we would be fighting this battle on horseback. I had sort of expected everyone to dismount and _then_ run at the Orcs with weapons drawn. Instead, we were hurtling toward them at something like twenty miles an hour, and I had still failed to draw my sword. My thoughts on this were as follows:

            _Oh shit. WHY do I have to be such an idiot?_

Grasping the reins with one hand, I managed to clumsily withdraw the sword from its scabbard, and not a moment too soon. Literally seconds after I had settled into a semi-comfortable position with my sword waving haphazardly in the air, the two forces met. Man and horse collided with Orc and Warg, smashing together with a sickening crunch, lifeless and unconscious bodies flung in every direction. Larien's frenzied cries rose to mingle with those of the other horses and I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs as I lunged at an Orc, sword pointing forward. Hissing, the reptilian creature dodged the brunt of my blow, escaping with a long scratch down the side of its cheek. It grinned hideously at me as its mount snapped and growled, preparing to lunge at Larien's throat.

            However, at that point, Larien, relying on instinct passed down from generations of horses before her, immediately decided that whatever I thought we should do was wrong, ignored my sharp tugs on the reins, and bolted.

            I spent a large amount of time trying to regain control of the black mare, hacking and slicing at the air around me, hoping to hit an enemy in a particularly vital area. I caught brief glimpses of men and beast alike falling to the ground in death as I struggled with Larien, and praying each time that the individual in question was not one of our men.

            I know that I did kill several Orcs and severely disabled some (as in partially hacking off an arm before Larien got it in her mind to gallop off in another direction), but by the time Larien ceased to act on terror and began to calm down a little, the battle was just about finished, save for a few random half-dead Orcs and Wargs still crawling around on the ground (some, I noted, missing an arm). 

            "Larien…Larien…STOP DAMMIT!" I shouted, pulling back hard on the reins. Surprisingly, Larien came to a dead halt, the momentum throwing me forward in the saddle. Relieved and more than a little angry at the horse, I immediately dismounted, deciding that going on foot would be one hell of a lot safer than trying to ride Larien again, especially since most of the riding Orcs had since been disposed of, in addition to their canine mounts. I left her to graze on the hill, hoping that she wouldn't run off on me, and picked my way around the bodies, delivering a quick blow to those who were still living, mindful of the corpses of our own men scattered among them.

            "Aragorn!" I heard Legolas call over the moans of the dying. I looked up from the Orc I had just decapitated, frowning thoughtfully at the groups of men wandering around the battleground. Not finding Aragorn's familiar tall form among them, I ran to catch up with Legolas.

            "You haven't seen him?" I asked worriedly, scanning the landscape for clues. Legolas shook his head. I inhaled sharply as my heart tightened in my chest. This did not bode well…

            "Aragorn!" shouted Gimli.

            No response.

            We drew near to the edge of one of the cliffs that had shaped the valley and a sickening feeling grasped my stomach. Legolas knelt down and examined the ground for some unknown reason. I wanted to point out that yes, that was the ground, but that shrewd observation didn't really help us in terms of finding Aragorn, but I thought that it was hardly appropriate to try to bring in humor into such a grave situation.

            I was about to suggest checking for him among the wounded when a rattled and wheezing laugh broke through the air. I turned and found an Orc lying on the ground, face mutilated with various lacerations (or maybe that was just how it looked), black blood trickling out of its mouth, stomach heaving with laughter. I warily approached him with Legolas.

            "Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing," Gimli offered menacingly, holding his axe over the dying creature. The Orc laughed again, coughing pathetically. Anger and hatred boiled in my cheeks.

            "Where is he, you fucking bastard?" I snapped, infuriated that this wretched and useless creature would dare laugh at something that had the potential to affect the lives and fate of many. It continued to laugh and my fingers balled into fists.

            "Gehh…he's…grhhh…dead," it gurgled in malicious delight. Fury turned into shock and I blanched, nausea brewing in my stomach. "He took a little tumble off the cliff." My heart stopped. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Legolas stood over him a moment before kneeling down and forcefully taking him by the collar of his leather vest.

            "You lie," he hissed vehemently, with more anger than I thought he could ever possess. The Orc was unaffected by this and continued to laugh. It suddenly choked and made a guttural sound, and then slowly let its last breath flow from its lungs, deflating slowly like a balloon. Legolas released him and let him drop to the ground. He then looked curiously at the Orc's hand before reaching and withdrawing something silver and sparkly. My breath caught in my throat.

            Arwen's pendant.

            I darted toward the cliff's edge where Théoden had been standing. I peered over the edge and into the rushing river below, searching for something, anything to discredit the Orc's testimony. There was no sign of him—not even a crumpled body on the rocks or a fragment of a familiar sword.

            Just the pendant. 

            At that moment, my entire world collapsed. I wanted to scream and sob all at once, but all I could do was stand at the rocky precipice and stare into the cold, unfeeling water below. My heart contracted painfully in my chest as I realized what this meant. Aragorn was the heir to the throne, the one man who could unite the people, one who would lead us in victory against the forces of Mordor. Without him, there was simply no hope.

            But even with all the prophecy stuff aside, Aragorn still was special to me—he was someone who didn't seem to have a specific role in my life; he was just Aragorn, someone who I could rely on. Now that he was gone, his presence seemed more essential than ever before and it seemed nearly impossible to leave that valley without him at my side, nagging at my lack of attention span, giving me that familiar warning look, or simply just being there, a comforting presence in this messed up world.

            "Get the wounded on horses," Théoden said suddenly, snapping me out of the trance I had fallen into. "The wolves of Isengard will return." Even this failed to motivate me to leave. I didn't care anymore, not even for my own safety. Everything seemed pointless. "Leave the dead." I tensed up at his last words. How _dare_ he even suggest we just leave without looking for Aragorn? If it wasn't for him and Gandalf, Théoden would still be under Saruman's control and his entire kingdom would be screwed. I weakly opened my mouth to protest and give the King a good piece of my mind, but found that I could no longer speak without feeling sick to my stomach. I slowly shut my mouth and stared intently at the river, searching for a sign of our lost companion. "Come," he said a little more gently, placing his hand on Legolas' shoulder. Legolas did not respond, looking instead at the water below, his brow wrinkled in worry. Théoden suppressed a sigh and departed from us, his cloak billowing in the wind.

            I stared at the river for quite some time, immersed in my own confused and grief-stricken thoughts. I was in shock. I couldn't feel anything other than my heart beating in my chest. As the murky waters slipped away below, memories flooded through my head. Waking up in the hospital waiting room to a strange nurse informing me that my aunt had just passed away. Gandalf disappearing into the black abyss of Khazad-dûm with the fiery Balrog. Boromir taking his last breath in that Godforsaken forest on the Anduin. Sam and Frodo leaving for Mordor without a goodbye. Merry and Pippin being taken by the Uruk-Hai. And now this. Aragorn, the rock and foundation, the one who had assumed leadership of the Fellowship as we ran out of Moria, the one who had kept us going through everything, was gone. The future was now uncertain and about a thousand times scarier than it had been before.

            But one of the worst parts was that I could not even begin to think of what I'd tell Arwen or imagine how painful this would be for her.

            "Haley," Legolas said, gently tapping me on the shoulder. His face was slightly drawn and for the first time ever, a flicker of fear was present in his eyes. I looked at him blankly. "We have to go…they are preparing to depart." I looked at the river at back at him. Aragorn was dead. Legolas had silently confirmed it, leaving me feeling hopeless. Suddenly, I felt too tired, too world-weary to continue—I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and find out that this whole tragedy was just a nightmare. Aragorn and Boromir would be alive, the hobbits would still be with us, and Gandalf would have ditched the white robes for his old, but familiar grey, ragged ones. Everything would go according to plan and we'd kick the shit out of Sauron and Saruman and all live happily ever after.

            But at that point, it looked like things were going to continue on their crappy way, and everything seemed doomed to failure. A single hot tear rolled down my cheek. Legolas looked at me, his eyebrows slightly drawn together, before hooking his arm around my shoulder and gently guiding me away from the cliff, Gimli following closely behind. Incredibly conscious of the arm on my shoulders and the way that he pulled me closer when another tear trailed down my cheek, I felt a surge of mixed emotions: my extreme sadness did not change the way I felt about Legolas or the way I reacted (mainly by a huge adrenaline rush), but at the same time I hated myself for enjoying the warm presence on my shoulder when everything else was so screwed up—why should I, of all the people, be happy about something so trivial when there were so many others suffering because of Aragorn's death?

            But the most overpowering thought of all was not about Aragorn or anyone else who died that day. As we made our way toward the remaining soldiers, that single thought echoed throughout my head:

            _I don't want to lose him next._

A/N: I know it's a little angsty…but Aragorn's near-death experience is kind of a emotional low point for everyone. And I've got some things in mind…hopefully this wasn't sappy. I tried to keep it down to earth and all, but it's hard to do that sometimes with really painful stuff…anyhow…this was a hard chapter to write and I really hope it turned out okay…I'll try to update soon. Twelve pages. I'm on a roll. Well…sorta…


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

Disclaimer: 'Gorny's got the muscles, Frodo's got the Ring, Gimli's got the attitude, and I don't own anything! Yeah!

A/N: Sorry about that. Cheerleader moment. Which is amazing, since I've never been a cheerleader…whoa…anyway…

Well, it's time for my little explanation regarding my whereabouts for the past month or so. It is a moving story, which I will summarize as briefly as possible. School's a bitch and I had Tech Week for the play, which made things more complicated. Then I got food poisoning, threw up fourteen times in one day, and missed all of my performances. Then Thanksgiving rolled around and we had to clean up the house and cook. And then I had a big Madrigal Dinner thingy. And I've got major stories involving the former—regarding hot guys too! Involves me tripping as well, but…hot guys make it semi-okay. And then Christmas rolled around. Or is in the process of rolling around. And I've got the flu and my mom won't let me go see RotK tonight because I had a fever this morning, dammit. Yes. Quite a profound story, isn't it? Well, I'm typing now so…anyway…

SWEET SASSY MOLASSES! 533 REVIEWS! YOU GUYS TOTALLY ROCK! YEE HAW!

I have in my possession the new extended version of Two Towers. *cue insane laughter* New material! Yes! Anyway, it's quite good—lots of new scenes and more Legolas lines and Gimli comedy. Can't get much better than that. And the cast commentary is quite amusing…Dom and Billy are hilarious. I recommend listening to it, as well as the one from FotR. I will be using the new material, so if you don't recognize something from the movie, it's probably from the extended version. Or I made it up. Ah, well, if you're confused feel free to ask for clarification.

Special shout-outs for my reviews from some LOTR characters (Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Haldir), which totally made my day.

Speaking of Haldir…it's that time. Yup. It's time to reveal the results of my poll. 

Yes! Let Haldir live!—14

Yes! Let me live! I don't want to die!—1 (Guess…)

NO! Let him die!—0

You could go either way—1

I could care less—1

Hey! I ordered a cheeseburger!—1

(Two days of eating only Jell-O and broth takes its toll…)

So it looks like Haldir lives! Yay. Thank you to all those who participated, fictional or not (Haldir, I'm looking at you…)

If you asked to be on the mailing list and did not get an email informing you of an update, please email me at bluekat103@yahoo.com (put TTAE Mailing List in the subject line) with your email address and pen name and I will add you to the list. If anyone else would like to be added, please email me and let me know. I think it will be less confusing than putting it in reviews.

What th—what's this? *BEEP BEEP* ANGST WARNING! Okay, this chapter will also be a little angsty as well…not severely so (like "Oh, life is not worth living…doom, doom…I see dead people…oops, wrong movie…) but it's not as upbeat as previous chapters. But fear not! 'Gorny returns soon, bringing the morale with him!

HA HA! I finally saw Pirates of the Caribbean! Yippee!

Correction of a Correction: Oops. Wind Elf is STILL Wind Elf…she just has more than one pen name. Okay, I get it now. Sorry about that!

Chapter Thirty-Four

            The final stage of our journey to Helm's Deep was completely uneventful. A glum, melancholy silence fell upon the remaining soldiers as we turned from the corpse-littered battlefield, leaving our departed comrades to rot on the grassy plain, their remains to mingle with horses, Orcs, and Wargs forevermore*. But the cruelest burial of them all was at the bottom of the river, apart from his departed countrymen on the plain, instead bound to eternal isolation in the cold, unfeeling depths of the rushing river below. I half-expected the heavens to burst open and cry out at the wrong that had been committed against Aragorn—first his death and then the watery grave to which he fell. Another part expected that the man himself would rise up out of the river and run after our procession, yelling at us to stop and wait for him. 

            But only the steady beat of hooves on the ground greeted my ears as we rode away from the battlefield and toward an uncertain future.

***

            My first thoughts on the fortress were something along the lines of: "What the hell?" Despite the fact that its atmosphere was slightly foreboding, Helm's Deep was quite intriguing. From far away, it looked as though the architectural styles of both the Elves and the Dwarves had been combined to create this looming fortress that had seemingly sprung forth from the mountain itself. Like the other Elven structures I had seen, the building itself appeared to be part of the surrounding landscape—in some places, it was difficult to tell where the walls ended and the mountain began. Whether or not this was actually part of the intended effect, I'll never know. However, the architects paid less attention to detail than the Elves, favoring simple geometric shapes with very little embellishment, which was slightly reminiscent of the Dwarven structures that loomed threateningly in Moria. As we drew closer, the observations I had first made seemed less and less accurate—the battle-scarred walls were a striking contrast to the immaculate and polished perfection of Rivendell and Lorien and the crumbling stonework was an extremely different from the beautifully crafted interior of Moria, which had remained more or less intact even in abandonment. But the most disconcerting part of the entire edifice, with its chipped and weather-beaten walls and dismal atmosphere, was the way it cuddled up against the mountain, leaving only one visible way of escape.

            This was our big defense against Saruman. A miserable, claustrophobia-inducing, crumbling piece of rock. There was no way. It was like arming bunnies with sporks and expecting them to launch a successful invasion of Russia.

            Smiles broke out on the mud and blood spattered faces of the men as we drew closer to Helm's Deep; they obviously had more faith in this hunk of rock than I did at the moment. A few even let forth jubilant shouts as we galloped across the rock-strewn turf. The knot in my stomach tightened and I found myself looking for a pair of familiar (and comforting) eyes for reassurance. I suddenly recalled the events of the past few hours and slumped sadly in my saddle, fighting back tears. For once, I was left to console myself: for the loss of Aragorn and for the dark fortress that loomed ever closer on the horizon.

***

            The large and heavy wooden doors had already been opened by the time we reached the top of the gently inclining stone ramp at the entrance, which I would like to note, lacked handrails, or any other sort of barrier to prevent us from falling to the ground below. I gripped the reins nervously and urged Larien forward, hoping that she would not suddenly decide to take an alternate route.

            Thankfully, we crossed over the threshold without any close calls, and I felt much less nervous until I realized that I was still in a fort made out of crumbling rock and no visible routes of escape.

            Peachy.

            "Make way for the King!" someone shouted over the clatter of hooves on the stone floor. The people gathered at the entrance parted down the middle and we rode through onto another ramp that coiled upward. It was kind of thrilling, in an odd way. It sort of reminded me of the guilty delight I had always experienced when roller skating or riding my bike through the house (which was strictly forbidden, but as a young child, I needed to be constantly reminded of this fact, which I conveniently "forgot" at least once a week.) 

            People swept by in a long, steady blur as we glided through at a steady gait. The ramp suddenly ended, flattening into level stone, which was where Théoden stopped his horse. I pulled back on the reins and Larien slowly came to a stop when she felt she was ready. Unfortunately, this was about ten feet away from the rest of the procession. I fiddled with the reins, ignoring the odd looks I was getting from some of the people congregated nearby.

            Éowyn suddenly burst out of nowhere, face flushed and hair streaming gently behind her. Her eyes quickly flickered over the remainder of our party, quietly searching for some unknown sign of reassurance.

            "So few!" she exclaimed in greeting, her face bearing a mixed expression of hope and uneasiness. I slowly slid from the saddle, landing heavily on the ground. Keeping a firm grip on the reins, I cast my eyes downward, not quite able to look Éowyn in the face. "So few of you have returned!" One of the guardsmen approached me and offered to take Larien to the stables. I nodded absentmindedly, handing him the reins.

            Théoden looked at his niece with an unreadable expression, hesitating slightly before his regal posture returned. "Our people are safe," he replied clearly and confidently, before turning to help a guardsman dismount. "We have paid for it with many lives." My eyes fell downward again as I tried to blink back the tears brimming in my eyes. I felt a gentle hand fall softly on my shoulder. I didn't need to look to know who it was, but I did anyway, taking momentary comfort in deep blue eyes that met my gaze.

            "My lady," Gimli said quietly. I reluctantly pulled my eyes away from Legolas, instead focusing my gaze on the Dwarf. He had approached Éowyn with his helmet in hand and wearing a somber expression. Éowyn regarded him carefully before speaking.

            "Lord Aragorn," she replied quietly. She paused for a moment, seeming to search for the right words, "where is he?"

            "He fell," Gimli responded, his voice thick with unshed tears.

            The fact that a _Dwarf_, was merely contemplating tears was enough to make me realize the true sorrow of the situation. Dwarves don't cry. The display of another emotion aside from anger or general irritability is something to comment on alone (at least according to my experiences). It would have been more likely for Gimli to put on a pink tutu, declare himself the Good Fairy, and run around granting wishes.

            Actually, now that I think about it, that might have been quite interesting.

            But the expression on Éowyn's face was truly heartbreaking. For the brief time that I had known her, I had come to think of her as one of the bravest women in the world. It wasn't necessarily because of something she had done, but because of what she was as a person—cool, calm, poised, and strong. But somehow, Aragorn's death had struck her in her most vulnerable part, completely crumbling her defenses.

            It was in that moment that I realized two things. One, tears were forming in Éowyn's eyes. Like Gimli, I did not think her capable of tears—not because she was an uncaring person, but because she seemed so strong that nothing seemed capable of causing her so much grief. It was because of this first observation that I came to the following realization: Éowyn was in love with Aragorn.

            How I managed to not pick up on this before is beyond me.

            I had several thoughts regarding this shocking insight, the first being somewhere along the lines of: "Why does Aragorn have all of these women falling all over him?" I quickly dismissed it as unimportant, despite the fact that the possible explanations could generate some amusement. The next thought that entered my mind was mostly regarding what was to be done about Arwen. I had always liked Arwen—she was very kind and hospitable toward me when I was in Rivendell. However, I also thought Éowyn was as cool as heck. I felt a certain loyalty to both women—they both seemed to equally deserve Aragorn and I did want the very best for all three of the parties involved, but…

            Reality suddenly smacked me in the face with the bitter reminder that Aragorn was dead. I choked back a sob as I reflected on what would happen as a result. So many people would be affected by his death. It didn't seem right for him to die like this. There was no getting on without him.

            "Come," Legolas murmured softly, slipping his arm around my shoulders, a gesture that meant more than the world to me. Blinded by the tears lingering in my eyes, I let him lead me away, Gimli bringing up the rear.

***

            Several hours passed, and before I knew it, evening was upon us, the shadows lengthening as the sun sank into the west. We had sat down to dinner in a small alcove that had been pretty well ignored by the other civilians, our faces illuminated by the flickering torchlight and the last dying rays of sunlight. Our meal was frugal; cold meat leftovers from who knows when, an apple, a hunk of staling bread, and a canteen of lukewarm water. I poked hesitantly at the meat with a fork. I didn't feel like eating; the very thought of food was enough to make me want to throw up. I set my plate down on the uneven floor, and carefully folded my hands over my empty stomach.

            "Haley, please eat something," Legolas asked quietly, taking a bite out of his apple. I stared back at him blankly.

            "Have some ale," suggested Gimli. I raised an eyebrow at the extended flask (which he somehow managed to keep full throughout the duration of our journey). "No? Ah…well…all the more for me." He took a rather large gulp as he said this, the liquid streaming out the sides of his mouth and running in little rivulets down his beard. I came to the conclusion that Dwarves seriously needed to work on their coping skills. While I suppose inebriation generally would help ease the pain, the end result of such behavior (a hung-over and melancholy Dwarf) was not entirely pleasant. Gimli did not seem too bothered by this fact.

            "Haley, may I have a word with you?" Legolas asked, setting his half-eaten apple down on his plate. I nodded mutely. Gimli took a rather large bite out of his bread, washing it down with another mouthful of ale, crumbs clinging to his beard and spilling down his front. Legolas gave him a rather pointed look. Gimli frowned for a moment.

            "Oh..." he said, as sudden realization dawned on him. He rose from the rock he had been sitting on, and flask in hand, slowly and deliberately exited the alcove, sneaking a peek over his shoulder as he rounded the bend.

            I rolled my eyes. Nice going, Mr. Subtle.

            "Haley," Legolas began once the Dwarf had meandered out of sight (and hopefully earshot), "you have not spoken since midday and you will accept neither food nor drink." He paused, seeming to wait for a confirmation on my part. After a moment I opened my mouth.

            "It's not like I made a conscious decision to not speak or anything," I replied quietly. "It's just kind of how I react, I guess." I paused for a moment, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. "And…I…I felt it would be…selfish of me to allow myself to grieve when so many others would be affected by this…like Arwen and…others." I had nearly said 'Éowyn', which would have been pretty stupid, but I managed to check myself before I caused any damage. I inhaled sharply and bit back more tears. "I don't really have a right."

            Legolas regarded me pensively, his expression unreadable. But it was his eyes that undid me in the end. I know it sounds horribly cliché, like something you might expect to find in some cheap romance novel in the checkout line at the grocery store (minus the hot sex and impassioned declarations of love, as well as those ridiculous gowns the women were always wearing on the cover, but other than that, it was rather similar), but I looked into his eyes and all my defenses came tumbling down. 

            It is also worth mentioning that it was also at this point that I broke down completely and starting bawling like a baby. Aragorn's death coupled with the whole Legolas situation had wreaked havoc on my poor nerves and I suppose it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to tears. That and I also had my period and was experiencing severe chocolate and Midol deprivation. It was bound to happen at some point.

            However, at that particular point in time I was less concerned with why I was crying, instead focusing on the fact that life was miserable and there was nothing I could do to cease this seemingly endless cycle of pain. I cried for Aragorn. I cried for Arwen. I cried for Éowyn. I cried for Gandalf, despite the fact that he was currently alive and well and off on some secret wizard mission. I cried for Boromir. I cried for Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam. I cried for Aunt Kate. I cried for Legolas. Hell, at one point I might have cried for Gimli. I was enough of a mess to make it possible.

            The magnitude of my tears was so great that I scarcely noticed when a pair of warm arms enveloped me, my cheek coming to rest on a broad chest. And when I did notice, I cried even harder. I'm not entirely sure why, but as mentioned before, I was not very concerned with reason at this point.

            It seemed like hours had passed when my tears were finally reduced to sniffling hiccups, and by that time, there was a particularly large teary spot on Legolas' right shoulder. I reluctantly removed myself from his arms, dabbing at my swollen eyes with a handkerchief.

            "I'm sorry," I said after a moment, partly for going all emotional on him and partly for sobbing all over his tunic. First there was the whole deal with me barfing on him and now this. One can't do much but hope for something significant to happen on the romance front when she keeps expelling bodily fluids on the tunic of the guy in question.

            "You have nothing to apologize for," Legolas replied with a slight smile. I shrugged and blew my nose, which sounded rather like a foghorn, but the alternative was not entirely pleasant and also giving me a sinus headache.

            "Have we got anything to eat?" I asked after a moment.

***

            I suspect that the _miruvor_ Legolas forced me to drink was enhanced by some of Gimli's secret stash of Dwarven ale because nearly ten minutes after ingesting it, I began to feel rather warm and I fell asleep within three minutes.

            One thing I learned about Helm's Deep was that it never really sleeps. Consequently, I fluttered in and out of consciousness, constantly awakened by the various conversations that all seemed to be taking place within a fifty foot radius. All of the children also seemed to be close by, as a baby cried at least every fifteen minutes on the clock. Luckily, I was too tired to really care and simply plugged my ears until sleep reclaimed me.

            "Why are you still up?" I heard Gimli ask sometime later. Legolas mumbled that he wasn't feeling tired. "You don't need to worry about that one…she sleeps like a rock," Gimli replied, poking me in the back with what felt like the handle of his axe. I twitched and contemplated throwing some large, blunt, and heavy object at him, but concluded that I was too tired. Legolas said something about being concerned and Gimli replied with some long speech that I didn't really feel like listening to. I shifted slightly on the floor and slowly fell back to sleep.

*= Lenore! Lost Lenore! Sorry…this is what happens when you read "The Raven" for lit class. Rather odd poem…but I felt inclined to mention Lenore…it must be the cold medicine.

Too Mary Sue? I'm not sure…I'm a little nervous about this chapter. Let me know what you think!


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

Disclaimer: A gypsy read my palm today. Apparently I was not J.R.R. Tolkien in any of my past lives, nor is Peter Jackson a projection of my spirit, so I guess I still don't own anything.

A/N: Oh my God. I saw RotK and…wow. Talk about one amazing movie. Amazing doesn't even begin to describe it. It was the perfect ending of an amazing trilogy. It's quite sad though…but wow. What acting. What vision. What hotness…I mean…great battle scenes. If this doesn't get Best Picture (in addition to every other applicable Oscar), then the people at the Academy have problems. Or drugs, depending on how much their eyes are twitching. Sigh…it's so sad it's over though. But it was one hell of a finish. If you're reading this instead of seeing the movie, I want you to turn off your computer right now and go see it. And bring Kleenex. Lots of it.

Hope everyone had a good holiday!

Special thanks to Wind Elf who found me a Human Name Generator. Thank you! This makes my life SO much easier! Have another life-size solid milk chocolate Legolas! Shouts also go to Legolas and Haldir who both left reviews. Although, apparently part of Haldir's got cut off. Also, the aforementioned elf now thinks all the women who read this fic are in love with him. He also thinks he's a handsome rogue-of-a-devil _and_ he ate my cheeseburger. (pouts) I wanted that.

I should do a shout-out section in one chapter…maybe. I dunno.

My gosh…you guys are so nice…thank you for all the reviews…600! WOW! I've said it before and I'll say it again: you all ROCK. I'm really going to try and update more now that things have calmed down slightly. While I didn't really fulfill one reviewer's request to update for Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve, and her grandmother's birthday, hopefully this will suffice, LoL. Thank you all again!

Chapter Thirty-Five

            I woke the next morning to something being jabbed repeatedly into my back. I muttered a few curses, yanked my sleeping roll far over my head, and rolled over. Despite the fact that I had gotten more than enough sleep, I was still feeling rather fatigued and desperately wanted to retreat into the dark warmth of my sleeping roll and forget about the numerous problems that had arisen as of yesterday.

            Gimli had other ideas.

            "Wake up!" he bellowed, prodding me in the back with what I assumed was the handle of his axe. I mumbled unintelligibly, drawing the blankets more tightly around me. I was poked sharply in the ribs in response. 

            "Dammit, Gimli!" I bellowed, clutching my side as I quickly sat up, glaring fiercely at the Dwarf, who was standing with his arms crossed smugly over his chest.

            "You've had more than enough sleep," he informed me, looking just a little too haughty for his own good. "There is much work to be done."

            "That doesn't give you the right to physically assault me!" I countered angrily, massaging my stinging side. I had an uncanny feeling that I would develop a rather nasty bruise later. Gimli simply turned on his heel, calling for me to hurry up over his shoulder. I eyed a quarter-sized rock that was conveniently placed right next to my right hand.

            The clanging sound it made when it struck Gimli's helmet as well as the resulting yelp of surprise from the Dwarf was very satisfying.

*

            Gimli avenged himself by yelling at me for a good ten minutes. I'm not sure if this one-sided conversation had an actual point, but Gimli apparently thought it was a good way to start off the morning. However, I've learned through experience that Gimli often holds some…ideals that the rest of us do not appreciate. Such as not bathing. Needless to say, I ignored him and spent most of this time gathering up my possessions, occasionally rolling my eyes or snorting sarcastically. It was during this time that I noticed the cloak that had been carefully spread over my sleeping roll.

            "…And another thing…" Gimli articulated as my hand came to rest at the leaf-shaped brooch at my neck. It certainly wasn't _my cloak. I picked up the wrap, feeling the familiar soft fabric roll over my fingertips. The identical brooch confirmed my theory. Well, that and the fact that it was well over four feet long and therefore, could not belong to Gimli (thank God). A large and rather goofy grin spread across my face and I felt that "My Little Pony" sappy, happy feeling stirring within my heart, as cliché as that may sound._

            "And you can stop that obnoxious smiling! It wasn't _that_ amusing!" Gimli shouted. I rolled my eyes in response, quickly floating back to reality and placing the cloak gently on the ground. I gathered up the rest of my things as Gimli continued on his seemingly endless rant, finally sliding my pack on over my shoulders and stooping down to retrieve the cloak from the stone floor. Gimli followed me out of the alcove, still grumbling, until we both realized that I had _no_ idea where I was going, meaning he had to take the lead. He then proceeded to complain about _that_ for approximately seven minutes, which was the amount of time it took for us to locate Legolas.

            "Thank you," I said once we found him, handing him his folded cloak. He nodded, accepting the bundle, his lips curving up in a slight smile.

            "…incompetence!" finished Gimli, whose face was now rather flushed with anger. Legolas looked at him strangely before looking at me for an explanation.

            "I threw a rock at him and he didn't like it," I replied, shrugging my shoulders slightly. He didn't look too surprised. Gimli let out a snort of exasperation and muttered something about finding a decent meal as he shuffled off in the opposite direction. My stomach growled. It wasn't a half-bad idea. I slid my pack off my shoulders and fumbled around, searching for the solitary _lembas_ packet I had on my person (which, as I mentioned before, I had borrowed (without permission) from Aragorn). The thought of the Ranger forced me into a quiet reverie as I broke off a piece of the wafer.

            "We are to meet with the King in an hour's time," Legolas informed me as I chewed contemplatively. 

            "What for?" I asked once I had swallowed. "Want any?" I extended the packet. He shook his head.

            "Discussion of defense tactics, I imagine," he replied as I placed the nearly empty packet back in my pack.

            "Oh." I would have to find some way to preoccupy myself during that time. These little chats with Théoden had a fun factor of zero. It was like painting grass and then sitting down to watch the paint dry as the grass grows, _while listening to two people of equally dull personalities discuss taxes and life insurance. "What time is it?" I asked to change the subject. I had to wake up more before I could devote any further thought to Théoden. Legolas stared at the sun for a moment (which was still rather low in the eastern sky, but Gimli had made it seem like I had overslept for at least an hour) before replying:_

            "It's about seven hours before midday."

            _I wish **I** could tell time by looking at the…hey wait a minute… it's five o-friggin'-clock in the morning! _

            With that revelation, I decided that the very least Gimli deserved was another one of my special singing performances. 

            "That damn Dwarf…" I muttered, scowling at the sun. The way I see it, it should be illegal to get up (or force anyone else to get up) before seven o'clock in the morning. 

Legolas looked at me oddly for a moment and opened his mouth to say something when he was interrupted by a great amount of shouting. From the sounds of it, Gimli was somehow involved.

            "Where is he? Where is he? Get out of my way! I'm going to kill him!" I heard the Dwarf shout over the clamor. I raised an eyebrow at Legolas. The only person I could think of at the moment that would provoke such an outburst from Gimli was me, and I was certainly not a 'him'. That alone would have been cause for a _completely different argument. I was really confused. If Wormtongue had returned, there would have been more of a commotion and I sincerely doubt Gimli would have hesitated in trying to kill him. Invisible foes? Could be. Gimli had enough "comfort ale" last night to make it possible. I shut my pack and slid it back on my shoulders, planning on having to go intercede on Gimli's behalf. Or at least stand back and laugh while Legolas did the actual work. I bent down to tie my boot, which had somehow come undone during my trek from the alcove._

            "_Le ab-dollen," I heard Legolas say as I struggled with the laces. I clumsily translated: _You're late_. I frowned in puzzlement. Either Legolas had gone off the deep end or…my breath caught in my throat as a possibility took shape in my mind and the faintest glimmer of hope flickered in my heart. "You look terrible," he continued. My fingers fumbled with the worn cords as I knotted them together, my heart beating faster with every passing second. I stood up quickly, hoping for the impossible and fearing that I would be disappointed._

            He was standing right in front of me, looking a little worse for wear, his clothing torn and dirty (or more so than usual), his hands and face covered in a thin layer of dirt and blood. But, despite the fact that his existence seemed to defy all logic and possibility, Aragorn was alive, and currently laughing because Legolas had just told him he looked terrible.

            It was all too unreal, even for Middle-earth. 

            "Oh my God," I finally managed to choke out, wanting to laugh and cry all at once. All the fear and despair I had felt in the past twelve hours dissolved with the giddying realization that Aragorn was alive and that our small hope of victory could be given new life. He turned his familiar green eyes to me with a small smile upon his face. I blinked back the tears that were forming in my eyes before hugging him tightly, noting that he smelled like a rather disgusting combination of fish, dirt, blood, sweat, and horse. If I hadn't been incredibly happy and relieved, I would have gagged.

            "Don't you _ever scare me like that again!" I commanded after a moment of incoherent whimpering (from me, not Aragorn), pulling away so I could see him properly. "We thought you were DEAD! Do you have any idea how upset and frightened we all were?" I'd have to say that this was one of the more confusing moments of my life. I wanted to both hug and throttle the man at the same time. I settled for going back and for between emotions, like some sort of weird personality disorder. "But I'm so glad you're back," I continued in a softer voice. "Just don't ever pull something like that ever again or you WILL be dead." He smiled at that last part and patted me gently on the shoulder, probably to encourage my silence. I'm guessing the last thing he needed at that point was to have to listen to me rant._

            "It's good to see you, Haley," he replied, sounding wearier than usual. Legolas took this opportunity to remove something from his pocket, gently placing it in Aragorn's hand. The Ranger opened his fingers and looked quietly at his outstretched palm. Arwen's pendant rested gently on his hand, seeming comically out of place amongst the blood, dirt, and bruises. He looked up in disbelief at Legolas, who smiled his quiet, knowing smile.

            "_Hannon le," Aragorn replied after a moment of shocked silence. That was easy enough: "Thank you." Amid this incredibly emotional scene, I felt that familiar sense of pride that often popped up when I successfully translated a Sindarin sentence, despite the fact that it was two words long and one of the first phrases I learned. "Where is the king?" he asked after slipping the pendant into his own pocket._

            "More importantly, where the hell were you?" I demanded, folding my arms over my chest. Just because he was missing for a day and probably injured does NOT get him off the hook. 

            "All will be explained in due time," he replied tiredly, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. "I bring ill tidings—our situation is grimmer than expected." I frowned in confusion and worry. 

            "He is just beyond that door," Legolas said, gesturing to one of the large double doors on the far wall. Aragorn nodded. 

"Find Gimli and stay close by. I expect the king will grant you audience as well." Legolas nodded and Aragorn left us, limping slightly as he approached the large doors. I shook my head slightly as I watched him make what was no doubt a very dramatic entrance that would have been even more complete with a fantastic soundtrack. But as far as I knew, no one had a boom box, so we had to do without it.

            _What **is** it with people coming back from the dead all the time? I thought quietly to myself as Aragorn disappeared behind the doors. It's not that I wasn't happy to see Aragorn (or Gandalf, for that matter), but it was really starting to creep me out. I half-expected a drenched Boromir to pop out from behind a wall and demand to know what the hell we were thinking sending him over a waterfall when he was only taking a well-deserved nap._

            Hey, it could happen.

            Legolas gently nudged me, snapping me out of my trance, jerking his head in the direction Gimli had wandered off in.

            I trailed after him, pondering life and death in Middle-earth (while still on the lookout for any sign of Boromir) when I noticed Éowyn and my thoughts were quickly diverted by her expression. She was standing with her hands hanging limply at her sides, appearing happy, upset, and confused all at the same time, which I could sympathize with, seeing I had just been changing emotions like socks a few minutes ago, if that makes any sense. But then I started to wonder if she had seen both Aragorn AND the pendant, which definitely had "Another Woman" written all over it. Or "I'm A Rugged Guy Who Likes Jewelry" or "Check Out This Bling".  Or maybe even "Very In Touch With My Feminine Side." However you want to interpret it. 

            Unfortunately, I had very little time to contemplate the whole Aragorn-Arwen-Éowyn situation because while I was mulling it all over, I had managed to lose track of where I was going, and thus failing to notice the stone wall inconveniently placed right in the middle of the course I had unwittingly chosen to take. Consequently, I walked right into the wall, which like everything else at Helm's Deep, was made out of stone, which is very solid, which produces a painful result if you walk right into it. So, my thoughts were quickly diverted to the pain in my face (particularly my nose and chin) as well as the odd looks I was receiving from pretty much everyone in the room. I was also concerned with the fact that Legolas found all of this amusing.

            The moral of the story is: never get lost in thought when there are very solid objects (especially walls) anywhere in the vicinity and if you expect sympathy for walking into said object, don't hang around Legolas.

*

            We found Gimli without too much trouble. Actually, let me rephrase that. _Legolas_ found Gimli without too much trouble. _I was rather preoccupied with my nose, which was hurting like hell as result of my previous collision with the wall. I also had to periodically deliver a slap to Legolas' arm, as he continued to find this all incredibly entertaining. _

            Cheeky Elf.

            Unfortunately, Gimli also shared this sentiment and proceeded to laugh rather obnoxiously when Legolas explained what had happened. I tried to kick them both in the shins, but Legolas' reflexes made it nearly impossible and Gimli threatened me with a very slow and painful death if I so much as touched him.

            So I resorted to pouting, whining, and complaining. The usual deal.

            We returned about fifteen minutes later with Gimli and Legolas both wearing amused expressions (Gimli more so than Legolas) and me sulking behind them, my right hand covering my smarting nose. Then we had to hang around outside what I assumed was Helm's Deep's equivalent of the Great Hall for another ten minutes before the guard outside the door would let us in.

            We finally entered a rather large room, small in comparison to the Great Hall at Edoras, but significantly less smoky which, in the words of Martha Stewart, is a good thing. It was built of stone with a high ceiling supported by many grand arches. Sunlight streamed in through the windows in long white shafts, illuminating the room so that it appeared we had stepped into some holy house of worship rather than a throne room in a poorly constructed fortress. Several wooden tables and benches had been set out upon the floor and an intricately carved throne was nestled in the large alcove at the end of the room, flags and banners decorating the space behind it. Aragorn, Théoden, and the Royal Homeboys (which I had renamed his attendants, as no one had really bothered to mention their names. Théoden didn't seem capable of going anywhere (including the bathroom, as far as I know) without at least one of them, so I figured I had to call them _something_) were all standing around the throne, with the exception of Théoden, who was sitting. I suppose it's one of the perks of being a king. They had apparently gone through the whole "where the hell were you and how the hell did you get back here?" process while we had been waiting outside. I was slightly disappointed. It would've been kind of funny to see Théoden freak out.

            Aragorn paused in the middle of his sentence to greet the three of us with a nod of his head, giving me rather strange look. I can't really blame him, seeing as I still had my hand poised protectively over my nose, which probably looked odd, or at least like I smelled something foul.

            "I walked into a wall," I explained from behind my hand. Théoden and the Royal Homeboys looked slightly disturbed; Aragorn nodded knowingly and continued on like I had commented on the weather or something normal like that.

            "…as I rode to return to Helm's Deep, I encountered a great host of Uruk-Hai marching southward. They make for Helm's Deep. I returned as quickly as I could," said Aragorn, quietly. My chest tightened. That couldn't be good.

            Théoden rose from his seat as Aragorn spoke, taking slow, kingly strides forward, staring quietly at the door. I don't really see how that helped our situation any, but I suppose it was more for a dramatic effect rather than practicality. 

            "A great host, you say?" he said after a moment of silence.

            "All of Isengard is emptied," Aragorn replied.

            "How many?"

            "Ten-thousand strong at least." My first reaction to this statement was to wonder if he actually sat down and counted. That would explain his lateness. Then the meaning of his words hit me. Ten-thousand Uruk-Hai.

            Shit.

            "Ten-thousand?" Théoden asked incredulously.

            "Heavens to Murgatroyd," was all I could manage.

            "It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of Men," Aragorn explained quietly. "They will be here by nightfall." His voice was barely above a whisper. A chill went up my spine. Victory did not seem so certain as it had a half an hour ago when Aragorn returned.

            Théoden turned slowly crossing the entire length of the hall before snapping "Let them come!"

            I sighed as I watched him exit the hall, the door slamming shut behind him. Ten-thousand Uruk-Hai were coming to attack us and the king had just gone insane. 

Great.

*

I have to give Théoden some credit: he can move quickly. By the time Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and I had followed him out of the throne room, he had already started giving orders, shouting at every available guard to begin making preparations for battle. It was rather easy to get lost in all the shouting that was going on—it took about a minute or so for me to realize that Aragorn was not-so-gently tugging on my sleeve and telling me to hurry up.

I quickly came to my senses and darted after Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, all of whom were following Théoden, who was still shouting. His multitasking was pretty amazing. I mostly concerned myself with desperately tying to avoid running into people and not do further damage to my nose, which was no easy task, considering the large amount of people who seemed to have surfaced just to hear Théoden shout.

We followed Théoden for a long time before he took any real notice to us. Why we had to trail after him like a bunch of ducklings made _no_ sense to me, especially since he didn't particularly need for us to be there. 

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall," he informed one of the Homeboys. The man nodded respectfully before departing from us. We had somehow managed to arrive at the entrance of the fortress—I had gotten so turned around that I had given up any hope of actually figuring out where I was. People seemed to have reacted quickly to Théoden's orders—men were busy nailing large wooden planks to the entrance doors. I didn't see how it would help much—if there was a battering ram, the only thing that would really prevent them from breaking down the door would be a solid wall of concrete. Apparently, Théoden had a different opinion, as he seemed perfectly happy with the progress being made on the door.

I followed Théoden and the others out onto the stone ramp beyond the doors, peering cautiously over the edge and retreating with a shudder. The fact that I was no longer on a horse failed to make that drop seem any less frightening.

"We will cover the causeway and the gate from above," Théoden explained, gesturing wildly. I blinked, not quite understanding what he was talking about. My battle strategies boiled down to: "Hack at the bad guys. And try not to get killed or horribly injured." I had very little patience or understanding for plans containing words like 'causeway'. "No army has ever breeched the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg!" he continued, dramatically sweeping his arms in the direction of the walls. I remember thinking that the name 'Hornburg' was more comical than impressive. It was incredibly difficult not to laugh, but I managed to restrain myself.

"This is not a rabble of mindless Orcs," Gimli informed Théoden, sounding slightly exasperated, even for Gimli. "These are _Uruk-Hai_. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf," returned the King (A/N: No pun intended…heh…had to mention that…anywho…back to the story), slight irritation creeping into his normally stable tone. "I know how to defend my own keep." With that, he strode briskly back into the fortress Whoa. Two points to Théoden. I trailed in after Aragorn and Legolas, trying to shut my mind's eye, which was currently picturing Gimli and Théoden getting into a catfight/bitch slapping contest. It wasn't pretty, but it was highly amusing.

"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock," Théoden continued proudly as he led us quickly through the fortress (at that point I became certain even _he didn't know where the hell he was going __or what he was going to do when he got there. I suppose it looked kingly and manly, but lacked a large element of common sense). I raised an eyebrow—he was also getting a little _too_ carried away with those similes. "Saruman's hordes will plunge and burn. We've seen it before. Crops can be resown, homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them." _

I don't think I've ever seen anyone so confident in the face of what seemed to be inevitable doom. However, that did not make me want to keep my opinion to myself, even in the slightest.

"And now it's time for a healthy dose of reality!" I chimed in sarcastically. "Hate to burst your bubble, Your Majesty but—"Aragorn firmly jabbed me in the stomach with his elbow, his subtle hint for me to shut up. 

Just like old times. 

"Be _quiet," he hissed under his breath, just in case I hadn't completely understood. I narrowed my eyes at him and folded my arms protectively over my stomach. "They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages," Aragorn explained, looking slightly peeved (I'm not sure if that sentiment was directed at me or the King). "They come to destroy its __people—down to the last child!" I grumbled quietly to myself. I was planning on saying something like that…just with a more generous distribution of the phrase "you idiot". But then again, it probably showed sagacity on Aragorn's part to promptly shut me up. Either that or experience. I'm guessing the latter._

Théoden turned abruptly, nearly standing nose-to-nose with Aragorn. "What would you have me do?" he snapped under his breath. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread." I raised an eyebrow. There he goes with the literary devices again… "If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!" While that _was_ a good point, I still wanted to smack some sense into Théoden. 

"Send out riders, my lord," Aragorn suggested as Théoden turned away. "You must call for aide." Théoden doubled back, visibly irritated this time. 

And Aragorn tells _me to keep my big mouth shut…_

"And who would come?" Théoden replied, almost mockingly. "Elves? Dwarves?" He nodded to the three of us respectively (at least I hope so. The last thing I need is to be mistaken for a Dwarf). "We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead." His blue eyes narrowed sharply as he said this and I really, really, _really_ wanted to slap him. However, I was not entirely keen on being remembered as "The Sarcastic Girl Who Slapped the King and Was Promptly Executed by the Royal Homeboys All Within Five Minutes".

Fortunately, Aragorn has absolutely no reservations about saying whatever the hell he's thinking, especially with Théoden. I guess that's the kind of attitude you get from being Isildur's Heir, but I like to think he picked it up from me. I've got to have credit for something other than being annoying and sarcastic…

"Gondor will answer," he replied regally, squaring his shoulders with that familiar quiet pride. Théoden's eyes flashed with anger, his eyebrows knitting together in a terrible frown.

"Gondor?" he spat. I was slightly taken aback. Apparently Aragorn had struck a nerve. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies close in around us?" I desperately wanted to point out that they were probably in…surprise! Gondor! But apparently, Théoden had not had his morning nap and was more grouchy than usual (or maybe Gimli woke him up) and I didn't want to try his patience more than was necessary. Besides, Aragorn was doing a pretty good job on his own. "Where was Gon…" Théoden quickly checked himself, as though a little alarm had gone off in his head and said something to the degree of "Hey! Kings aren't supposed get snappish and petulant! Where were _you_ when we watched _Be a Great King in Just Twelve Easy Steps?" "No, my lord Aragorn, we are alone." The angry flush had receded from his cheeks, but that bitter, despairing tone had not completely left his voice. He turned on his heel, leaving the four of us standing there rather bewildered._

            Or in my case, bewildered, with a sore nose, and wondering where the hell I was and when I'd actually figure out how to navigate properly.

A/N: I hate finals. Which explains why this chapter was also a tad slow in coming…I've had it partially written for a while…just haven't had a lot of time to finish it and go over it. Let me know about this one—I'm a little nervous about it. The next chapter will probably be more eventful—it includes the scene where Legolas gets all depressing and such. I'm looking forward to writing that…I have ideas…bwa ha ha. This was nine pages. Long enough? I hope so. Anyway…R/R.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

Disclaimer: (sing to the tune of "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" by the Backstreet Boys (who I have no legal claim to either). Be sure to bust it out at the top of your lungs so you can share this magic with the WHOLE family!)

Even in my heart, I see

Tolkien won't give the rights to me

Deep within my soul, I fear

It'll never be my property!

So what is the real use of suing me?

When I know I don't own anything!

But I wish did, for myself (and a blo-onde elf….)

Quit playing games with my mind!

A/N: Ah…sorry, that was my arbitrary tribute to the Backstreet Boys. I was quite the teenybopper back in the day. And I just read they're going on tour sometime this year…hmm…

General note: I appreciate honesty and constructive criticism. I really do. However, if you really hate everything I've done with the story, then I don't want you to waste your time reading it, because if you dislike it, then it seems rather pointless to read it.

To the person who ever so politely inquired: Pippin eventually marries Diamond Took. Merry marries Estella Bolger. Sam has thirteen children and names his first son Frodo. I first read the books when I was eleven. I don't care if you don't believe me—it's really not my problem.

Alright, I feel guilty. I know there hasn't been romance and I really appreciate your patience. I was going to include the Battle of Helm's Deep in the next couple of chapters, but I went on a guilt trip and decided to write a really long Chapter Thirty-Six because everyone has been too patient with me. The only real catch is that there's a bit of a cliffhanger…anyway, I've talked too long. Onto…

Chapter Thirty-Six

            Aragorn's next course of action was to wander around aimlessly for a substantially long period of time, occasionally mentioning some obscure defense tactic that I didn't have the patience to listen to. My feet started to hurt after what seemed like our eighth consecutive trip around the fortress and I quickly began to feel sweaty and uncomfortable.

            "Where are we going?" I asked Aragorn after tolerating at least half an hour of this nonsense. He didn't answer me at first, instead studying people around us, most of whom seemed rather intent on hauling all of their earthly possessions with them. The major difference between them and us was that they seemed to have somewhere to go.

            "Théoden will have ordered the women and children into the caves," he murmured in response. I raised an eyebrow. He suddenly stopped and looked at me, as though he had just realized something important. "Haley," he began, looking slightly uncomfortable. "This is a matter of some…importance." He was speaking in code again, which I took to mean he was trying to be sensitive about something he was about to say. "The King had thought that it might be…best for your safety if you remained in the caves with the women and children."

            I wasn't sure how to react to this comment. Truth be told, I was half-inclined to simply accept it without a fuss. I _liked_ the idea of being safe and not having to fear for my life with every passing second of battle. I hated watching others fall to the ground, lost to the world as a result of senseless murder. If I went into the caves I wouldn't have to witness any of these atrocities or worry about my own wellbeing. It made sense; I don't like fighting and I'm certainly not a hero. 

            _But I'm not a coward, either, a tiny voice inside my head pointed out. I chewed thoughtfully on my lip. I had worked hard to get where I was—I hadn't necessarily done it gracefully or tactfully, mind you, but the point was that I had gone too far to turn back. Giving in and taking the easy way out would simply prove that I was not capable of going on the entire quest, as most in attendance at the Council had initially pointed out. I couldn't simply stop trying._

            "I'm here," I said after a moment of reflection, "I might as well fight."

            "This is your choice?" Aragorn asked carefully. I shrugged.

            "Yeah…I didn't really come here to sit around, so…" I trailed off, quirking my lips up in a half-hearted smile. "Might as well." Aragorn nodded slowly before turning away and looking pensively at the walls. 

"We'll place the reserves along the wall," he said as he began walking again. I suppressed a sigh. I had hoped that I might have distracted him enough so that he'd forget about battle strategies, at least temporarily. No such luck. "They can support the archers from above the gate." Having informed us of this seemingly useless tidbit of information, he continued walking, gently pushing past the crowds of people. Legolas suddenly took a large step forward and grabbed hold of the Ranger's arm.

            "Aragorn, you must rest," he insisted firmly. Aragorn seemed to ignore him and instead continued walking, his eyes flickering over the walls, as if searching for another strategy to distract Legolas. "You're no use to us half-alive," Legolas pointed out, trying to get Aragorn's attention. Aragorn nearly rolled his eyes and ignored Legolas' protestations, which greatly annoyed the Elf. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

            "Aragorn!" A familiar feminine shout interrupted what might have turned into an interesting debate (I had yet to add my two cents). Aragorn looked up, no doubt welcoming the diversion. Éowyn dodged around several people laden with baggage of all kinds, her eyes reflecting a quiet flame of fury as she approached us. "I'm to be sent with the women into the caves." I immediately felt guilty. I had at least been given a choice in the matter. I had no doubt that Éowyn was the better fighter and she also seemed to have no reservations about fighting, which made me feel even worse.

            "That is an honorable charge," Aragorn replied, carefully. He always seemed to know exactly what to say. However, Éowyn didn't seem to share the same opinion and an angry flush rose in her cheeks.

            "To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return. What renown is there in that?" she replied sharply, trying to mask the sentiment in her voice.

            "My lady," Aragorn continued in a softer voice, "a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"

            "Let me stand at your side," she replied, her voice seemingly rough with emotion.

            "It is not in my power to command it," Aragorn said dismissively before turning around and continuing on his course. I stood dumbstruck in my place.

            "You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn called at his retreating back. It could have been my imagination, but I felt as though this comment had been directed specifically at me and I felt even guiltier than I had before. Aragorn turned around and listened to her with an unreadable expression on his face. She continued almost angrily, a faint pleading reflecting almost imperceptibly in her stormy eyes. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you." She took a deep breath before continuing in a softer voice, "Because they love you." My eyes widened at what appeared to be a confession from Éowyn and I suddenly felt rather nervous and embarrassed on her behalf. Aragorn watched her with an almost blank expression, his eyes unreadable. She suddenly paled, seeming rather embarrassed and horrified all at once. "I'm sorry," she whispered, seeming shocked at the words that had just come out of her mouth. She brushed quickly past Aragorn, walking quickly towards the entrance of the caves. I shot Aragorn an exasperated look before quickly chasing after Éowyn. He could have been a little more tactful.

            "Éowyn!" I called after her, trying not to get caught up in the crowd. She turned slowly, seeming slightly surprised when she saw me trailing after her. I quickly approached her and realized that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was going to say to her. "I'm sorry," I tried after a moment. She observed me with a slightly confused expression painted on her fair features. "Truthfully…I'd rather be the one in the caves," I continued in a slightly quieter voice. I felt uneasy admitting this, but it was too late to go back now. "I guess…it's a bit of a test for both of us…" I trailed off; wondering if that made any sense at all. She regarded me quietly for a moment before giving a rather half-hearted smile.

            "Thank you," she replied somberly. I nodded. "Good luck," she added as an afterthought.

            "I'll need it," I responded. She gave another small smile before falling into step with the others, her back straight and her head held high. I watched her for a moment, wishing I had just the smallest amount of her courage, before turning and making my way back to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Aragorn gave me an inquiring look. I shook my head slightly in response. "Nothing. Just some words of encouragement."

***

            The next order of business was to get Aragorn to rest. Legolas was quite resolute about this and carried on for quite sometime. It was only after I threatened to sing the entire score of _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (he had absolutely no idea what it was, I'm sure, but I did mention that it was over two hours long) that he showed signs of wavering. I think the final straw was when Gimli threatened to join me and make up his own words, combined with Legolas' declaration that he would stop neither of us from doing so. Aragorn then admitted that he was starting to feel slightly weary and that perhaps he'd rest for an hour or so._

            Nothing particularly significant happened during the time when Aragorn was resting. I was sent on a couple errands that often ended in me getting lost and have to beg directions from random passersby. However, there wasn't much else I could do during that stretch of time other than listen to defense tactics (of which there seemed no shortage of), so I bit my tongue and kept quiet about it.

            Aragorn resurfaced sometime in mid-afternoon (two hours after midday according to Legolas), looking very refreshed. He immediately harangued us for letting him rest for far too long, but I took to ignoring him, so it wasn't so bad.

            We then had a series of meetings with Théoden, who was looking slightly less irritated than the last time I saw him, and discussed a matter of things, all of which are too tedious to repeat here. However, I _did_ find out what causeway meant, so I suppose it wasn't a total waste of time.

            When we finally finished the last of our little talks with Théoden, the sun was rather low in the western sky and the evening shadows were beginning to fall. I suddenly felt very nervous. The ghastly army was quickly approaching. The air would soon be filled with battle cries and the prolonged moans of the dying, lifeless corpses scattering the ground. 

            I wanted to throw up.

            We ate a quick dinner and then proceeded to the armory, a small torch lit room filled with people, weaponry and armor spread rather randomly across the small wooden tables in the center of the room. I looked quietly at the men that surrounded me. Some looked old enough to be my grandfather, with grizzled white hair and lined careworn faces, whereas others looked young enough to still be in junior high, their eyes wide and scared as they hefted weapons far too heavy for their thin, wiry arms. The weapons themselves looked as though they had been abandoned for many years; some of the swords were rusted and tarnished, seeming barely capable of cutting through a stick of butter. Aragorn had taken to inspecting some of the blades while I looked on with a heavy heart. The sword he held in his hand was so rusted that it appeared spotted, the edges nicked and ragged. He shook his head and dropped it on the table with a clatter, his face fixed in an expression of disappointment.

            "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he intoned somberly, his eyes flickering over the ragtag army around us. He turned and looked at the three of us, shaking his head slightly. "These are no soldiers." I felt my heart sink like a lead brick. If Aragorn had lost hope, then there didn't seem like much of a point in even trying. 

            "Most have seen too many winters," Gimli observed as a group of particularly ancient men passed by us.

            "Or too few," Legolas added. I stared blankly at Aragorn, willing some miracle to occur and make victory seem possible. Nothing happened and I grew more depressed. "Look at them," Legolas continued, something akin to anger creeping into his stable tone. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." There was a lull in the conversations around us and almost every eye in the room was turned to Legolas, who did not seem the least bit embarrassed. In fact, he was almost accusatory, which, in an odd way, scared me. I had never seen him like this. I folded my arms over my stomach almost protectively, worried about what he might say next. "_Boe__ a hyn: neled herain…dan caer menig!" he continued bitterly in Sindarin. I clumsily translated: _And they should be: three hundred…against ten thousand!_ A shudder made its way up my spine._

            "_Si__ beriathar hýn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras," Aragorn replied matter-of-factly. I struggled with this one. __They have more hope defending themselves here than at Edoras. While it was not a statement that promised anything, it made me feel better than Legolas' previous declaration had. What he said next quickly changed that._

            "Aragorn," he said, nearly interrupting the Ranger, his face contorted in anger, "_nedin__ dagor hen _ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!"_ __They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die! Those words were enough to make me want to cry. I suddenly realized that this could very well be my last day on earth—on __any earth, for that matter. All the other times I had fought in battle were relatively spontaneous and I suppose the huge adrenaline rush had sort of distracted me from the possibility that I might lose my life. But now that chance seemed inevitable and I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life._

            "Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn snapped back, stepping forward to face Legolas, anger passing like a dark cloud over his strong features. Legolas seemed slightly taken aback, almost as if he had just realized what he had said. A moment of cold silence passed between the two before Aragorn turned and stormed off. Legolas stepped forward, as though he meant to follow him, looking rather apologetic. Gimli placed a restraining hand on his forearm.

            "Let him go, lad," the Dwarf said rather quietly. "Let him be." Legolas relaxed slightly, quietly watching Aragorn as he exited the armory. I regarded him with a blank look. I wasn't sure if I hated him for what he had said or not. The only thing I was able to deduce was that we were both equally troubled at that point.

            The three of us suffered a minute or so of quiet observation from the men still gathered in the armory. The noise resumed after awhile, though we still received odd looks every once in awhile.

            I wasn't sure what to say after that, instead staring at the men who passed by me, trying to summon what was left of my courage. Finally, I took a deep breath and gingerly placed my hand on Legolas' shoulder. He looked up and I started slightly, fearing that he might lash out at me. When nothing but silence greeted me, I opened my mouth to speak.

            "We're all frightened," I said softly, deeply conscious of the azure gaze directed at me. "But we might as well give it our best shot." I found that I didn't really have anything else to add and turned to leave, thinking that a breath of fresh air might do me some good. 

            "Haley," Legolas said suddenly, catching my hand in his. I desperately tried to hide the blush in my cheeks as I turned around. "I am sorry," he apologized, his expression unreadable. I gave a little half-smile and shrugged.

            "It's okay," I replied lamely, wishing I had something better to say. He released my hand and I left the armory, feeling slightly chilled as the cool evening breeze swept across my cheeks.

***

            Night fell cold and dark upon Helm's Deep, the dark shadows seeming to foretell the horrific events yet to come. The wind was cold and unfeeling against my skin, blowing my hair in every direction. I had been standing outside the armory for a rather long while, thinking of nothing in particular as the sun sank beneath the horizon, an act that I found strangely symbolic to the situation.

            "You'd best get ready," a passing soldier informed me. "There's not time left for idle thoughts." I nodded in response, taking one last look at the dark landscape before returning to the armory, gratefully noting that it was significantly warmer than outside. The weapons had been pretty much picked over; the few that remained were not in good enough condition to even contemplate using. I poked my head into one of the smaller rooms from which clinking and clattering sounds had been emerging. Gimli was busily digging through what looked to be chain mail, grumbling incoherently. I decided I must have been in the right place and began searching for some suitable armor.

            I quickly discovered that most of the chain mail vests were very large—fitted for men, no doubt. I eventually settled on what appeared to be one of the smaller ones. Gimli's search had evidently proved rather unsuccessful, as he was still digging through the pile rather angrily. I removed the tunic I wore over my lighter shirt and slipped the chain mail over my head, managing to get it caught in my hair several times. It was rather heavy and uncomfortable and I'm guessing it looked rather comical, being several sizes too big, but I really didn't have much of a choice in the matter so I simply pulled my tunic over my head, readjusted my sword, and hoped for the best.

            I heard voices in the next room and would have entered had they not belonged to Aragorn and Legolas. Deciding to give the two of them a moment alone to make whatever apologies needed to be made, I hung back with Gimli, who had given up his fruitless search for chain mail fit for a Dwarf, selecting what he evidently thought would fit him the best. He had quite a time trying to get the thing on and I would have helped, but I was rather preoccupied trying not to laugh. He finally got it over his head and, after hiking it up a _real_ lot, sort of waddled to the next room where Legolas and Aragorn had gathered.

            "We had time, I'd get this adjusted," he informed the Ranger and the Elf with annoyance. They both regarded him with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. I hid a smile behind my hand as Gimli released the gathered chain mail, which cascaded to the ground, the metal loops musically clinking together. It landed inches beyond his feet, the sleeves falling over his hands like some sort of robe. It reminded me of the dress-up games I used to play with Aunt Kate's castoff dresses, only I'd like to think Gimli looked far more ridiculous than I did. Both Legolas and Aragorn raised their eyebrows at the Dwarf, effectively hiding most signs of amusement. "It's a little tight across the chest," Gimli explained rather irately. I started to wonder if he actually realized that he was short.

            The blast of a horn suddenly pierced the air, startling me slightly. I had never heard anything quite like it before and I began to wonder if the Orcs had arrived early, which didn't make even the slightest bit of sense. They couldn't cover that much ground in under five minutes.

            "That is no Orc horn," Legolas stated, looking almost hopeful as he stared out the open doorway into the night. I felt slightly relieved, but no less suspicious as the lengthened note continued to drift through the air. Legolas suddenly lunged forward and darted up the stairs, followed closely by Aragorn. I took off after them, incredibly curious, but rather apprehensive as well.

            I followed them out into the night, dodging around the handfuls of people who still crowded the passageways. The lone note continued, seldom broken, as though the blower did not need to breathe in order to sustain the sound. I quickly grew lost in the maze that is Helm's Deep, trusting that both Aragorn and Legolas knew where they were going. I heard shouts of "Open the gate!" and "Send for the King!" echo above the call of the horn. The noise suddenly ceased and I could make out many light feet treading in perfect unison. An idea suddenly struck me: _Elves?_ It didn't seem to make much sense, but it was the only explanation I could come up with at the moment.

            I followed Aragorn and Legolas around a corner and found myself face to face with an elven army. Théoden was standing there, looking rather bewildered at this sudden appearance. I blinked. _This was certainly unexpected. A familiar blonde elf stood in front of the procession, clad in armor of scarlet and gold that seemed to glitter even in the absence of light. A name suddenly popped into my head. Haldir. The sentry who had stopped us in Lothlorien and, if memory serves, made fun of Gimli. I recalled that I had found him likeable at the time, if not a little haughty. _

            "We come to honor that allegiance," Haldir said, nodding to us in greeting, a slight smile upon his lips.

            "_Mae govannen_, Haldir!" Aragorn greeted as he raced down the steps. He pressed his hand to his heart and extended it before leaping forward and enveloping the rather bewildered Elf in a hug. Haldir smiled rather uneasily and awkwardly patted Aragorn on the back. I bit my lip and tried to contain a smile. "You are most welcome," Aragorn said as he pulled away. Legolas greeted Haldir warmly (less frantically and with less hugging). I settled with giving him a quick wave, to which he nodded in acknowledgment.

            The army (which up until that point had remained perfectly still) suddenly turned their heads to the left before pivoting and turning to face us. They did this in perfect unison, which was pretty cool, but at the same time, rather unnerving, as though they operated off one collective brain.

            "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," Haldir said to Théoden, who was still looking rather shocked, which he had every right to be, considering a bunch of Elves had rather randomly shown up on his doorstep.

***

            The next hour or so was spent reorganizing everything in order to accommodate the arrival of the Elves. I will be perfectly honest; I did not have the slightest idea what was going on, nor did I have any real desire to. Aragorn told me to stay with Legolas, which I suppose was sensible, seeing as he had about a million other things to do without having to worry about me. So I stayed with Legolas and Gimli, who had just decided to accompany us, after having ditched the chain mail, deciding it was more trouble then its worth.

            We were placed in the front row on the outer wall of the fortress with the rest of the Elven army, which made me rather nervous because I was pretty certain I wouldn't live up to their standards of a good warrior. I squinted at the dark horizon. So far I could detect no real movement, although I thought I saw a dim shadow on the horizon, but that could have been the result of an overactive imagination.

            We stood there a long time, and I grew more nervous with every passing second. A slight breeze whipped across my cheeks, bringing the scent of something unpleasantly familiar. A series of faint, brutal, bone chilling cries reached my ears and I shuddered, my eyes searching the horizon. A smudge barely the length of my index finger was making its way across the land, torches flickering in the wind. I tensed up as my heartbeat increased dramatically. They were coming.

            I gripped the bow tightly in my hands, the delicate elvish carvings imprinting on my palm. I had left my pack in an abandoned corner at Aragorn's request; he felt it would only hinder my movements. I complied with little argument (he was leaving his there as well, so I assumed it would be relatively safe), stuffing Aunt Kate's letter in my pocket as an afterthought. Now only the quiver of arrows hung limply at my back, and I shifted uncomfortably.

            The smudge moved quickly, the figures becoming slightly clearer, the noise several decibels louder. With every step they took, my heart beat slightly faster, until it seemed as though I would have a heart attack before they actually arrived. I tried desperately to concentrate on happier things, but my attention kept wandering back to the advancing army in front of me.

            A damp mist seemed to be moving through Helm's Deep, and a fine layer of wet dew settled on almost everything. I noted that it smelled slightly like rain as well, which did not sit easily with me. It was just one more disadvantage.

            They drew closer and closer until even the man with the dimmest eyesight could see them, a skin-crawling screech occasionally rising above the rhythmic march of their feet and the clank of their armor. It suddenly became clear to me just how many there were. All the other times we had been outnumbered seemed petty in comparison. They seemed to engulf the land around them, the end of the procession barely visible. As I watched them continue forward, it suddenly occurred to me that there was no way I could survive this battle. Even the most skilled warrior faces death when outnumbered; there was simply no hope for a mediocre one. I began to realize that this could very well be the end for me. I had survived other battles due to an outstanding amount of luck—there was no possible way that it could hold out this long. It would have to fail at some point.

            I looked carefully at the people around me, wondering what sort of thoughts were running through their minds, if they were now contemplating death as I was. My eyes fell upon Legolas. I knew his chances for survival were great, much better than my own. But I couldn't sit with the thought of him not ever knowing how I felt—especially if I died. I slipped my hand inside my pocket and felt the small slip of paper that contained my confession. 

            "Legolas," I said softly. He tore his eyes away from the nearing army and looked at me expectantly. "If anything should happen to me…I want you to read this," I continued, dropping the folded paper into his hand, trying to keep my hands from shaking. He stared at the note for a moment before pocketing it and nodding, seeming to be slightly intrigued by my odd request. I turned my eyes back to the horizon my heart pounding in my chest.

***

            At length, a stony silence fell upon Helm's Deep, broken only by odd creaks and sometimes the far-off whinny of a horse. But the steady tempo of feet meeting the ground continued as the Orcs drew closer to the fortress, the torches casting an eerie glow that seemed to come directly from hell itself.

            "You could have picked a better spot!" Gimli suddenly expostulated with a bit of a snort. Despite all the gloomy thoughts that were circulating throughout my mind, I smiled slightly. The stone railing was the exact same height as Gimli, making it completely impossible for him to see the field in front of the fortress.

            Aragorn walked slowly down the gap between the two lines, stopping when he reached the three of us and looking out at the approaching army.

            "Well, lad," began Gimli, looking grimly up at Aragorn, "whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night." There was a rumble of thunder and a lightning bolt suddenly streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the surrounding landscape with an electric white light. I looked up at the cloudy night sky, cursing whoever was in charge of the weather.

            "Your friends are with you, Aragorn," Legolas said as the lightening slowly flickered out, leaving us in darkness again.

            "Let's hope they last the night," Gimli commented, looking quietly at the wall in front of them. I shuddered, suddenly longing for the safety of the caves, wishing with my entire heart that I had taken the opportunity to stay in there.

            Well, either that or a machine gun.

            "Haley?" Aragorn asked suddenly. "Are you ill? You are pale." 

            "Me? No, I'm…I'm fine," I replied, trying desperately hard not to squeak. I was _not fine. I was frightened beyond all belief and rather convinced I was not going to survive the battle. _

            "Have strength," Aragorn said, gently squeezing my shoulder. I nodded somewhat half-heartedly, no longer able to take comfort in his words. He turned and went off in the opposite direction and I resumed staring bleakly at the advancing army, feeling all but hopeful.

            There was another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning and the clouds opened up and let forth a shower of rain. It tinkled merrily against the metal, seeming oblivious to the horrific battle that was about to ensue. I shifted as the water trickled down the back of my shirt, cold and uncomfortable against my skin. The lightning flashed more often now and the thunder rumbled threateningly. And all the while, the Orcs drew closer.

            "_A__ Eruchin, ú-dano i faelas a hyn, an uben tanatha le faelas,_" I heard Aragorn shout in Sindarin somewhere over to my right. I looked expectantly at Legolas. I was physically trembling now and all the Elvish I knew seemed to have been washed away by the rainwater. 

            "Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none," Legolas murmured softly. I nodded, my grip on my bow tightening. They were so close now, practically on top of the stone ramp at the entrance. A primitive cry broke over the beat of their feet on the ground and they suddenly came to a halt. Everyone seemed to hold their breath and still the rain poured down. My hair was soaked and my clothing was beginning to cling to me like a second skin. 

            "What's happening out there?" demanded Gimli impatiently, jumping several times in attempt to see over the wall.

            "Shall I describe it to you?" asked Legolas, a smile creeping onto his lips as the rain poured down his face. "Or would you like me to find you a box?" Gimli stared at Legolas for a moment before letting out an appreciative laugh. I managed a weak smile. My humor had practically disappeared, a dark fear taking its place. 

            Another frightening shout rose over the steady beat of the rain, wiping the smile right off my face. The Orcs responded immediately, beating the ends of their spears forcefully against the ground, screeching as they did so, seeming to delight in the prospect of battle. My heart echoed that same tempo as I regarded our enemy with ill-concealed fear. The familiar, distant, ring of a sword being removed from its scabbard sang out over the steady beat of the spears and a few men readied their arrows.

            The beating and shouting continued for several minutes. Then, without warning, an arrow was released from its bow, singing as it cut through the air and rain in one fluid motion. With a dull 'thunk', its head was embedded in the throat of a particularly unlucky Orc.

            One down, nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine left to go. 

            "_Dartho__!" Aragorn shouted, which I took to mean 'hold'. The creature made a choking sound before swaying and falling forward to the ground, dead. The rest of the army watched it with a mixed expression of stupidity and disbelief. One finally broke the silence with an angered scream, which turned into two, then ten, then one hundred, until it seemed that the entire army was screaming. My heart beat furiously within my chest and I suddenly found it incredibly difficult to breathe, the air seeming too thick and heavy to bring into my lungs. A louder shriek broke out over the clamor and they charged, screeching over the clatter of their armor._

            I numbly watched them move closer, every step bringing doom nearer. As the gap between them and the wall began to close, I fervently prayed that the earth might crack open and swallow them whole. But to my great disappointment, the ground continued to remain solid as they drew closer, bloodlust clearly written upon all of their faces.

            "_Tengado__ a chadad!" Aragorn bellowed over the noise. I was amazed that I could still hear him—the screeches and the clatter of armor and weaponry seemed to vacuum out all other sound, dominating all of my senses. The part of my brain that had not yet been entirely consumed by terror translated the shouted command: _Prepare to fire!_ With shaking hands, I raised my bow and withdrew an arrow from my quiver, lacking the grace and fluidity of most of my companions. I blamed it on nerves and fitted the arrow in the bow and drawing back with my right arm. My hands shook more with the realization that I had not practiced since we left Rivendell. More disconcerting was the fact that I had not been entirely skilled in the first place, earning a B on the skill test in P.E. I tried to shake those thoughts away and picked out an Orc in the charge to pin my vengeance on._

            "_Faeg__ i-varv... dîn na lanc a nu ranc_," Legolas said from his place beside me, remarkably calm for someone who was standing in front of a charging army of nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine furious Orcs. "Their armor is weak at the neck and under the arms," he repeated before I had the chance to even begin to translate. I focused on the Orc I had selected for my first shot. He was sprinting quickly across the ground, his arms flailing wildly, teeth bared in a hideous sneer. I tightened my grip on the bow.

"_Leithio__ i philinn_!" Aragorn shouted. I made an educated guess and decided that it meant "fire" and released my arrow, which landed in the ground with a "thwack", before being trampled to smithereens by the advancing army, missing the intended Orc by a foot or so. The only positive thing I could come up with at the moment was the fact that it might have given them splinters. I noticed that most (if not all) of the other elven arrows had hit their targets, and I tried to look cool, as if I had meant to hit the ground.

            "Anybody hit anything?" inquired Gimli rather anxiously. I did not mention my lack of success and quickly retrieved another arrow, repeating the same process. The arrow actually hit its intended target that time and I was rather pleased to watch the Orc in question fall to the ground and not get up.

            Various cries of "fire!" in English and Elvish erupted in the air, nearly drowning out the hideous shrieks that echoed through the night. Orcs fell in waves as almost every arrow found its mark in the flesh of the foul creatures.

            "Send them to me, come on!" shouted Gimli furiously, contrary to my recurring mental cry of "Make them go away!" They continued to draw closer to the wall despite the casualties on the front line and quickly began returning our fire with their own. I squinted carefully as I lined up another shot. They also appeared to have crossbows, which is Middle-earth's equivalent of a semiautomatic machine gun. My stomach clenched repeatedly as I released another arrow, mindful of those that were slinging through the air and into the hearts of our soldiers, the force knocking them off the wall and causing them to fall to the ground with a sickening crunch. 

And all the while I could not dismiss the thought that the next one might be meant for me.

I noticed a large amount of Orcs running forward and placing large unidentifiable bulky objects at the base of the wall. I had very little time to wonder what they were doing before Aragorn starting shouting in Elvish.

"_Pendraith__!_" I frowned at the unfamiliar word as I readied another arrow.

"Ladders," Legolas explained, most likely out of habit by now. My eyes widened slightly and I inhaled sharply. Up until then I had felt relatively safe and only had to worry about arrows. I would definitely not feel as protected or confident with Orcs in the fortress.

"Good!" exclaimed Gimli rather happily. I was about to make a mental note to confront him about his rather unnatural desire for bloodshed when this was over when I was reminded of the fact that I might not be there when it was over, or anyone else for that matter.

The ladders were slowly raised, one right after the other, the visual effect reminding me of the wave at sports games. 

"Swords! Swords!" shouted Aragorn above the roar. I slung my bow over my back and withdrew my sword, the metal shining brightly. I gripped the hilt tightly, desperately trying to harness the dark fear that was growing within me.

They scaled the ladders quickly and soon invaded the walls, swinging their blades in large arcs, dealing quick blows to those in their way. I flung myself into battle, attempting to take down whatever happened in my path, trying to cope with the idea that this would be my last battle.

The sounds and smells of the brawl completely overtook my senses. I seemed to move in slow motion, while the hideous shrieks and moaned cries of death beat ceaselessly on my ear drums, the air thick with the pungent, sharp smell of death. I brought my sword through an Orc I barely remembered beginning combat with, watching his eyes cloud over in pain as my blade ripped through the soft, yielding skin of his gut. I withdrew my sword sharply as he fell to the ground, black blood spilling out the corners of his mouth. The harsh reality suddenly hit me; this is war. The previous romanticized notions of gallant soldiers returning home to their devoted sweethearts after a brief scuffle that maybe left them with a minor bullet wound were quickly thrown out the window as another Orc made a charge at me. War is a never-ending cycle of both physical and emotional pain and torment. War is devastation; war is destruction. War is men and women young and old, lying dead in dirty ditches. And my greatest fear was that I would be one of those who would not live to see the sunrise.

"Legolas!" I heard Gimli shout above the noise. "Two already!"

"I'm on seventeen!" the Elf replied almost smugly, as if they were playing croquet instead of fighting for their very lives. Gimli made a noise of disbelief.

"I'll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!" he shouted back before swinging his axe into the crotch of the nearest Orc. I was too worried and distracted at that point to even be insulted at his use of the derogative "pointy-ear." Legolas shot at several more Orcs before turning back around and shouting:

"Nineteen!"

The battle continued on in a blur of blood and sound, Gimli's voice occasionally rising above the clamor to shout a number. I could feel nothing, barely noticing when the rain stopped, only aware of fear in my heart and the doom that seemed to creep closer with every blocked swing.

I was having a rather difficult time with a particular Orc who would just not die. Every time I tried to deliver the final blow, he would dodge out of the way or counterattack. We had been dueling back and forth for at least ten minutes when he shouted to one of his comrades.

"Grogor!" The Orc in question looked up as he ran his blade through a man he had been grappling with. My stomach clenched as his victim fell to the ground, his eyes glazed, and a faint trickle of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. The Orc I was fighting shouted something in his language to Grogor, whose lips curled up in a horrible sneer as he came forward, raising his weapon slightly. I got the impression that he had said something to the degree of "Help me finish her off", which was not encouraging in the slightest. However, the time the nameless Orc had taken to speak to his friend was enough to give me a slight advantage. I swung at him with my sword, watching in disgust as his head was separated from his shoulders, falling to the ground with his twitching body. The sword slid out of my hands on the backswing, the hilt slick with the sweat of my palms. It clattered to the ground several feet away, leaving me defenseless.

Unfortunately, Grogor did not take kindly to people lopping off his friends' heads and came charging at me angrily, his weapon poised to come down on me. At that moment I knew it was over. I would never be able to retrieve my sword in time. The hunting knife was useless—it was far too small to deflect a sword. The bow and arrow were out of the question—there was not enough time. So I stood there, powerless, bracing myself for death.

But the end never came. Grogor suddenly halted in his tracks and made a rather pained noise, a malicious grin still spread across his face. He fell forward to the ground, his weapon sliding out of his grasp with a clatter.

"Twenty-five!" crowed Gimli triumphantly from his place behind the dead Orc. He then shot off in another direction, intent on taking down every Orc on the wall. I blinked in shock. Gimli had saved my life. As unintentional as it may have been, he was the reason I was still breathing. Perhaps I was standing there like an idiot, but I was a _living_ idiot. I suddenly remembered why I was there and picked up my sword from its resting place on the ground.

It was not a confirmation of the outcome of the battle or even my future wellbeing, but it was enough to get my confidence back. I raised my blade and charged into battle, not knowing whether I would come out living, but knowing I would put up a damn good fight before I gave up.

***

I sank back into the same trance as before, my body overpowered by the sensations the battle produced. My actions were now furious and feverish, as though possessed by some demon, my breath coming in ragged gasps, blood pounding in my ears. I was barely aware of any injuries I received, instead completely focused on the melee that surrounded me.

"_Togo__ han dad, Legolas!_" I heard Aragorn shout. I looked up at the Elf as he let an arrow loose from his position near the edge of the wall. It landed near the throat of an Orc who was holding what appeared to be a gigantic sparkler high in the air. The entire picture was slightly reminiscent of the Olympic torch, with a much larger component of evil involved. I wondered what was going on as Legolas released another arrow while Aragorn shouted something like "Kill him!" in Sindarin. He couldn't possibly be trying to light a stone fortress on fire. The only other plausible explanation I could think of was that they had rigged the wall with explosives, but those certainly hadn't been invented yet.

Had they?

The kamikaze Orc flung himself and the torch into one of the culverts beneath the wall. There was a momentary pause followed by a deafening explosion, which sent large sections of the stone wall flying in all directions. The force knocked me off my feet and sent me flying into the stone railing that lined the walls. I gasped as the chain mail dug painfully into my ribs and back. Dust descended in clouds and gravel and small chips of stone rained down. I covered my nose and mouth and tried to keep from choking as I listened to the distant sound of boulders crashing into the ground, hopefully landing on some Orcs in the process. The air was thick with a metallic, smoky smell slightly similar to that of fireworks, irritating my lungs to no end. I had a severe coughing fit and tried to stand up, knees wobbling. The world slid in and out of focus, the very ground beneath me seeming to sway. I blinked a couple of times before my proper vision returned, leaving me feeling rather dizzy.

I retrieved my sword from where it had fallen several feet away and looked out over the Orc-infested field. A large line had somehow made its way up the causeway, and from the looks of it, they had not forgotten to bring the battering ram. I swore rather colorfully and surveyed the damage that had been done by the dynamite. There was now a huge gap in the wall, water (from a drain, I assume) gushing everywhere. The Orcs were taking advantage of said gap and were pushing each other out of the way to gain entrance. Strings of curses flowed from my mouth and I took off in the other direction, searching for a way to get down. Gimli, who had apparently been unconscious for several minutes as result of the explosion, took the more direct approach of shouting "Aragorn" and then jumping from the top of the wall and on top of the incoming group of Orcs.

I tripped my way down the stairs, regrouping with some of the archers who were stationed behind the wall. I had lost track of both Gimli and Legolas. Aragorn was standing a good ways ahead of us, yelling in Elvish. Apparently he was saying something to the degree of "Fire!" as all of the elves around me let forth a shower of arrows. I didn't want to bother with the bow and arrow at that point, seeing as I'd have to put it away in less than a minute and I wasn't such a great shot anyway. So I resorted to standing there with my sword, frowning fiercely at the advancing Uruk-hai.

"_Herio__!_" shouted Aragorn as the first line of Orcs fell. I took that to mean "Charge!" and took off with the rest of the archers.

            We met the Orcs head-on, losing several of the archers as a result. I threw myself into battle, again losing myself to that trancelike state that had held me captive for most of the battle. I acquired several new sets of scratches and bruises, and broke a finger (I'm not sure exactly how). I dimly remember seeing Legolas slide down the stone stairs on what appeared to be a shield, noticing how much it resembled skateboarding.

            The conflict continued for some time—I cannot say exactly how long. After a while, time seemed to have no meaning, the battle turning into an endless repetition of pain and death. I was making a charge at an Orc when I heard Théoden shout from somewhere in the fortress:

            "Aragorn! Fall back to the Keep!" I marveled at his ability to project his voice over the deafening sounds of battle. "Get your men out of there!" I was momentarily annoyed by his failure to recognize the fact that I was a woman, but I got over that rather quickly. 

            "__Nan___ Barad!__ _Nan__ Barad!_" Aragorn shouted somewhere over to my right. I understood the meaning well enough and took off in his direction, not really having the slightest idea where to go. "Haldir!" I had caught sight of him now, shouting at the wall where Haldir had been fighting. He looked up at Aragorn, who was gesturing wildly. "____Nan_ Barad!_" The Elf nodded and shouted at those under his command to retreat._

            "What are you doing?" demanded Gimli as Legolas and another Elf dragged him past me. "What are you stopping for?" I shot after the three of them, figuring they probably knew what they were doing.

***

            I found myself some time later at the stronghold of the fortress, somewhere above the front gate. I had lost track of both Aragorn and Gimli, who had somehow wandered off when both Legolas and myself were not looking. The only positive aspect I could find about the situation was that the Orcs had not yet managed to breach this part of the fortress, which made me feel safe, for the moment at least.

            An odd squeaking sound penetrated the air, followed by a hiss and a rush of air. Suddenly, a rather large grappling hook was flying through the air, quickly latching onto the stone wall, successfully knocking several men in the head in the process. Several similar squeaks were made and at least three more hooks attached themselves to the wall. Some of the men were struggling to remove the hooks by force, which, despite all the effort put into it, did not seem to be working in the slightest. I looked out over the wall, wondering if they meant to bring down the wall. My eyes widened slightly. They were raising ladders. Ladders that happened to be covered in Orcs.

            Two fell easily against the wall, letting what appeared to be at least one-hundred Orcs easily access the wall. I tightened my grip on my sword, trying to prepare myself for another fight. The third one was still being lifted, carrying another fifty, at least. An arrow suddenly flew through the air, breaking one of the ropes lashed to the grappling hook. Legolas regarded the ladder with a quiet satisfaction as it made its quick descent to the ground, squashing many Uruk-hai to an unrecognizable pulp in the process.

            While the absence of the third ladder acted as an advantage to us, there was still the problem of the one-hundred other Orcs entering the fort, as well as the thousands of others on the ground that entertained the same desire. I was trying not to think of those attempting to destroy the front gate.

            Legolas suddenly leapt upon the wall, causing me to briefly wonder if he meant to jump.

            "Aragorn!" he shouted, presumably to Aragorn, who had somehow gotten down near the front gate. I didn't even want to know _why_ at that point. I approached the wall and peered over the edge, making out the small form of the Ranger and the Dwarf far below on the ramp. Legolas threw a rope down to the Ranger, who caught hold of it easily. Legolas quickly dismounted from the wall, handing me the end of the rope. I held it tightly in both hands as Aragorn grabbed hold of Gimli, and jumped from the ramp. The initial force pulled me forwards some and I dug my heels into the floor in order to avoid being pulled over the edge. Legolas began hauling them upwards. It was quite the tug of war and my muscles cried out with every movement, in addition to shooting pain in the finger I had broken earlier.

            At long last, Aragorn's hand appeared over the top of the wall. Legolas grabbed hold of his wrist and I rushed forward to help, biting back the burning question of "Whadja eat? A ton of bricks?"*. With the additional aid of another soldier, we managed to get both Aragorn and Gimli over the wall safely.

            "Fall back! FALL BACK!" I heard someone shout once the Ranger and the Dwarf had both their feet on the ground. There was a terrific crash followed by the cry of "They have broken through!" I let loose a few angry curses. "The castle is breached! Retreat!" They didn't have to tell me twice. I took off after Aragorn, similar cries of "Fall back!" and "Retreat" echoing through the night.

            We ran through a maze of passageways and open areas, Orcs swarming all over the place. Fear moved my heart and my feet pounded against the floor. We finally reached the interior rooms of the castle—or the keep, I suppose—and quickly set about barring up all the entrances as our surviving comrades poured in. Haldir was one of the last to stumble in, clutching at his side, a crimson stain bloodying the gorgeous fabric of his shirt.

            I was shaking with fear. We were shut in completely, and nothing short of a miracle seemed capable of saving us now. The men had set about tearing the room apart, looking for something, anything to brace the doors. The Orcs had quickly begun utilizing the battering ram against the doors, each resounding crash causing more anxiety within me.

            "The fortress is taken," Théoden announced bitterly as we attempted to fit wooden beams against the door. "It is over." Aragorn ran toward the King with Legolas to retrieve a bench from one of the tables.

            "You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it," Aragorn shouted at the King, using his own words against him. I put my weight against one of the beams holding the door as another hit from the battering ram shook the entryway. "They still defend it. They have died defending it." Aragorn spoke these words bravely, a trace of anger creeping into his voice. This was another one of those times where, despite the fact that we were currently being held under siege by an army of angry Uruk-hai, I wanted to slap the King, even thought he did have the right to despair, considering the current circumstances. Another hit shook the doorway. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" Aragorn asked in a slightly calmer voice. I darted after Legolas, who had gone after a lone table sitting near the edge of the room. He tipped it over, the crockery and candles spilling to the floor in a series of crashes. I took the other end of the table and carried it toward the door. "Is there no other way?" asked Aragorn, almost desperately. We propped the table up against the doors as another blow sounded.

            "There is one passage," one of the Homeboys informed Aragorn. I made a mental note to find out his name, seeing as he was one of the more prominent attendants. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many." I leaned heavily against the table. Another crash shook the door. They were making a dent now; we wouldn't hold out for long. I tried to control my wobbling knees, digging my heels into the ground. 

            "Tell the women and children to make for the mountain pass," Aragorn commanded the Head Homeboy, grasping his shoulder firmly. "And barricade the entrance!" He pushed the Homeboy off into the direction of the caves.

            "So much death," Théoden said slowly and painfully. Both Aragorn and the Homeboy stopped in their tracks and looked oddly at the King. Another crash and the doors trembled. I shut my eyes and tried to calm my ragged breaths. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?" Théoden continued, seeming to accept the horrific fate that had been laid out for us. Another crash shook the door, dust escaping from the creaking planks.

            "Ride out with me," Aragorn suggested after a moment of contemplation. Théoden looked at him curiously. "Ride out and meet them," Aragorn continued, an almost insane look glittering in his eyes.

            "For death and glory," Théoden replied, seeming to catch on to Aragorn's idea.

            "For Rohan," Aragorn said assertively as the battering ram crashed against the door again. "For your people."

            "The sun is rising," Gimli informed them quietly, also seeming to accept this fate. I looked at the three of them strangely, wondering how they could be so tolerant of death, how they could accept such cruel fate. Aragorn looked at the light streaming through the window, seeming to realize something important. The battering ram crashed into the door again, this time the force sending me skidding across the floor on my knees.

            "Yes," said Théoden as I rubbed at my burning knees before getting up and bracing myself against the door again with the others. "Yes," he repeated, louder this time and slightly more confident. "The horn of Helm Hammerhead shall sound in the Deep…" he continued robustly, "…one last time." He said these last words with pride, anger, and sadness, a very powerful combination that could have reduced me to tears if we had not about to face death and if the name Helm Hammerhead wasn't so amusing.

            "Yes!" exclaimed Gimli in a similar tone, raising his axe in homage to Théoden, before running off to some unknown destination. There was a mighty crash and the door splintered, the beams breaking with a snap. I was more frightened than ever. The end was near, not only for me, but for Rohan, and quite possibly, Middle-earth itself. 

            "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," Théoden said to Aragorn, clasping his shoulder comradely. Aragorn nodded quietly. "Fell deeds awake," he continued, staring at the door as it splintered and cracked with another hit of the battering ram. "Now for wrath," he said impassionedly, his voice thick with anger and raw emotion. Aragorn withdrew his sword, his eyes fixed and cold, "…now for ruin and a red dawn!" With that, he placed a polished helmet upon his head. A low, piercing sound suddenly broke through the air, one I could never describe properly, other than to say it had qualities that would amuse most adolescent boys to no end. Horses were quickly brought forth from a doorway off to the side, whinnying and stamping impatiently. I reluctantly removed myself from the door, taking Larien's reins in my hands and whispered a few soothing words to her before sliding my foot into the stirrup and swinging myself up onto the saddle. She whinnied sharply. She could smell the Uruk-hai and I could feel her muscles tense in fright underneath the saddle. I smoothed her mane gently, not able to give myself the same reassurance.

As the horn sounded again, the door gave way, letting in light and a horde of murderous Orcs. Larien whinnied again, seeming rather intent on bolting, as she had done several days earlier. I held tightly on the reins staring at the long line of Uruk-hai attempting to make their way into the keep.

"Forth Eorlingas!" shouted Théoden, raising his sword high in the air. The men around me raised their own swords with echoing battle cries. I nudged Larien in the sides. She didn't need to be told twice. She took off with the others, intent on vacating the premises as soon as possible, bringing me closer to death.

I suppose the advantage to riding out on horses was that we were significantly taller than the Orcs and therefore out of reach. We could also trample them. I rode quickly with the others, trying to keep Larien's speed in check, which was a task in itself. I swung my blade and anything and everything I could, most of the time striking something in the face. We soon came down the causeway, which was filled with advancing Uruk-hai, who didn't take very kindly to our presence. I urged Larien down the ramp, hacking whatever I could. I looked up for a moment, taking note of the number still on the field. The vast amount still living seemed impossible—surely we had made a bigger dent in their numbers? But they still covered the landscape, seeming instead to have multiplied rather than diminished.

There was suddenly a burst of white light from a large hill slightly to the right of the fortress and a loud whinny broke over the horrible chatter of the Orcs. I looked up and saw a rider clad in the purest of white set upon the noblest of steeds, its coat pure and white as the driven snow. My heart leapt.

Gandalf.

Even amidst this horrible picture of devastation, I wanted to sing. Gandalf was here. The battle suddenly seemed worth fighting, and even winnable. A wizard could do magic, and technically magic could be extended to blowing a host of Uruk-hai to little tiny bits. I brought my sword down on another Orc, my heart filled with a new hope.

Another mounted figure stepped into view, and the cry of "Rohirrim!" suddenly echoed through the air. Then, a score of other riders stepped into view, making me nearly giddy with joy and hope.

"Éomer!" exclaimed Théoden beside me in a mixture of confusion and happy disbelief. I suddenly recalled the disgruntled captain who had stopped us on the plain when we were traveling to Edoras, now regarding him with a deliriously happy adoration, a sharp contrast to the peeved annoyance I had felt when I first met him.

"To the King!" shouted the captain. His soldiers responded with a roar of happy cries and they took off down the hill. 

I remember being impressed not so much by the fact that they had come to help us than by the fact that they were now leading a charge down a practically vertical hill. Dirt and dust stirred in clouds in their wake. A good portion of the Orcs made a defending line at the foot of the hill, snarling and growling as Gandalf and company descended upon them. A blinding white light suddenly shone across the Orcs, seeming too strong and too ethereal to belong to the sun. It bore down heavily on the army, some of them holding their hands over their blinded eyes and moaning pitifully.

With a resounding cry, Gandalf and the Rohirrim met the Orcs head-on, trampling them under the hooves of their mighty horses, their broad swords and long spears delivering swift blows that resulted in instant death.

The sun rose in the sky, mingling with Gandalf's own powerful light shining down on the Orcs. The breeze stirred my hair and I caught the faint smell of something pleasant. And then I knew everything was going to be alright and I nudged Larien forward, a smile painted on my lips.

***

Within an hour or so of fighting, the few remaining Orcs were retreating. I looked at their frantic fleeing forms with grim satisfaction on my face. Then I did a bit of a double-take. They were fleeing into a forest. A forest that had definitely not been there the night before. 

"Keep out of the forest!" someone shouted as the Orcs fled. "Keep away from the trees!" I think I would have done so even without his advice. Magical appearing forests are rather high on my list of things that freak me out. I watched with ill-concealed confusion as the last of the Uruk-hai straggled into the forest, not seeming to care that it had spontaneously appeared out of nowhere. As they slipped out of sight under the cover of the lush green foliage, there was a slight pause. Then, one by one, the trees began _moving, until the entire woodland was swaying from side to side, as if it had been possessed by giant green mice. Horrible screams erupted in the air, combined with the creak of wood and the whisper of moving leaves. My eyes widened and I came to the conclusion that Fangorn Forest had come to our rescue, as disturbing and frightening as the result was._

The next order of business was to burn the carcasses and tend to the wounded. I went in search of my pack, which I found undisturbed due to the fact that it had been nearly buried under rubble and a misplaced table. I shook off the dust and swung it over my shoulders and went off in search of one of my companions.

I found Legolas wandering around the Deeping Wall, regarding the scattered corpses quietly. We then encountered Gimli, who was sitting on top of a dead Orc, and smoking a pipe. A smug smile tugged at the corners of Legolas' lips and he approached the Dwarf, seeming rather boastful of something.

"Final count…" he greeted, examining his bow with a bit of pride, "…forty-two." I rolled my eyes. I had expected that near death would have eliminated their desire for competition, but it had apparently been strengthened. 

"Forty-two?" inquired Gimli with an equal amount of smugness. "That's not bad for a pointy-eared Elvish princeling." I couldn't help myself; I snorted. It was a good insult. Legolas shot me a rather annoyed look. "I myself am sitting pretty on forty-_three," Gimli continued. I laughed harder. This was rich. _

Legolas suddenly reached for an arrow, fitted it to his bow, and shot the Orc, the arrow landing between Gimli's legs. I stifled another bout of laughter.

"Forty-three," the Elf declared smugly. Gimli frowned.

"He was already dead!" the Dwarf pointed out. I smiled again.

"He was twitching," countered Legolas.

"He was twitching," began Gimli, calmly, "because he's got my ax embedded in his nervous system!" His voice rose to an annoyed growl, usually reserved for me. He shook his ax to prove his point, and the Orc twitched slightly, which was rather disturbing, but funny nonetheless. It felt so good to laugh again—everything was turning out perfectly and I felt extremely light-hearted.

But my heart fell like a load of bricks and I paled slightly. 

The note.

I had forgotten all about it—I had honestly expected to die…I hadn't thought about what to do should I live and actually need it back.

"And what was _your_ final count?" Gimli inquired as my laughter died down and I frantically calculated just exactly how I would get the note from Legolas.

"I…uh…well, you know, I lost track after forty-seven," I lied, trying to distract them. They both looked at me with slightly put-off expressions, knowing full well I hadn't done half as well as I claimed. 

"I find that rather unbelievable…" Gimli pointed out, gesturing with his pipe. I smiled tensely, trying to appear normal.

"Ah well…you know…I'm just…special," I stumbled. "Legolas…you know that paper I gave you at the beginning of the battle? D'you think I could have it back? Now?" I tried to look and sound unconcerned. My heart was racing. I had to get it back. Legolas frowned and retrieved the note from his pocket, still folded neatly.

"This?" he asked holding it up for me to see. I nodded.

"Yes. Can I have it back?" I asked nervously, trying to keep my voice from shaking. 

"What matter does it concern?" he inquired, holding it slightly out of my reach. I paled.

"Oh…nothing. It's just…something I thought was important. It's not. Really. It was just in case something happened," I explained. I had to clasp my hands behind my back to prevent them from shaking.

"If it's important, I think I should read it," he pointed out, making a move to unfold it. My face lost all coloring and panic rose in my throat.

"It's not important," I insisted, placing a restraining hand on his forearm.

"But you just said it was," he replied.

"I know…but I just don't think you need to read it," I said, trying to keep the quaver in my voice to a minimum. My argument was quickly losing ground and I was nearly trembling. This could not be happening.

"I think you should read it," Gimli commented from where he was perched on top of the dead Orc. Whether he meant to antagonize or help me, I knew not, but I glared at him fiercely anyway.

Unfortunately, Legolas seemed to agree with Gimli's advice, and unfolded the first crease. I looked on in horror as his hands moved to unfold the second fold. There was nothing I could do to stop him. So I turned to the one option left to me.

I turned on my heel and ran.

*= I actually know someone whose boyfriend said this to her when she made him carry her down the bluff at the beach (she's a total twig, so it didn't bother her). She told him he needed to work out more.    

I admit it: that was rather evil of me. However it _is a twenty page chapter and I warned you. Anyway, I _had_ to do it—it seemed like a good way to end the chapter. I'll update soon…I promise. To get me to update sooner, send 200 dollars in cash to—heh. Just kidding. It'd be more like 300. Please let me know what you think…rather nervous about this one as well. Seems to be a reoccurring theme as of late. Anyway—gotta go. The devil and I have tea together in half an hour._

Interesting fact of the day: There is a llama named Blue Kat for sale online. Don't ask me how I know this…


	37. Chapter 37: Forgetting REVISED

Disclaimer: (sing to the tune of "I Want It That Way" by…guess who? The Backstreet Boys! Who I don't own either! Remember: bust it out!)

This is fan fiction,

Result of LOTR addiction

I believe, it would be fun,

But I don't own it, Peter Jackson!

Tolkien, he dreamed it

PJ, he screened it

And I'm just an admirer

A court date is not my desire!

Tell me why

Ain't nothin' but a lawsuit!

Tell me why

Lots of paperwork to boot!

Tell why, please get out of my foyer,

Cause I'm not paying for a lawyer!

A/N: Wow…two in a row. Ah well…inspiration comes in strange forms…even boy bands.

* * *

**NOTE: There have been some important changes made in this chapter as of December 26, 2004. **

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Forgetting**

_"The problem with you…" Aunt Kate explained as she dropped a tea bag into the mug of steaming water in front of her, "…is you never let things go. You're just like one of those toy terriers Mrs. Wallace keeps—you know how they latch onto your pant legs and growl when they don't like you. You've just got to say something smart-alecky." I smiled slightly as I reached for the sugar, the steam from the tea warming my face. It was a cold day in late January, around __four o'clock__ in the afternoon and I had just finished a particularly grueling essay._

_"I like to think of it as opinionated," I replied, pouring a generous amount of the white granules into the dark liquid in front of me. "It makes me sound more agreeable." She laughed, her voice almost musical against the sound of the wind rattling at the windows._

_"See?" she said, gesturing with her right hand, raising her mug to her lips. "Always a fresh remark."_

_"You taught me well," I returned, pressing my palms together and lowering my head in a mock bow. She smiled, placing her mug gently on the table._

_"I don't have to worry about you, Haley," she said as I sipped at the hot tea. "You know how to put up a good fight; you can look after yourself."_

* * *

_I wonder what she would say if she could see me now._

My feet pounded against the uneven turf and my breath came in short, panicked bursts as I flew across the ground, my heart beating in a persistent tattoo. I stretched my legs to their greatest extent, my speed increasing with the knowledge that he could very well stop me if he wanted to.

_If he wanted to._

My thoughts were jumbled and confused as I bolted up a stairway, taking the steps two at a time. The one constant emotion I was aware of was a mounting panic, which manifested itself as a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I had to get away. I needed to get away from my mistakes.

_But I have nowhere to go._

I carelessly shoved people aside, my feet driven by panic and fear, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. All my senses were directed at the terrified emotions boiling inside of me and I could barely hear the irritated shouts of those with whom I had collided.

I don't know how long or how far I ran. Time and space seemed to have no boundaries, distorted by my burning need for flight. However, the physical strain soon became evident, even in my fear-saturated state. My lungs ached for air and my legs began to feel rubbery and worn-out with every step I took. My body, already exhausted and injured from battle, craved rest that I could not bear to give.

_I need to get away…_

My body finally betrayed me, my leg muscles seizing up painfully, the air I breathed sharp and bitter in my lungs. I stumbled into an abandoned watchtower and collapsed on the stone bench, my chest heaving for want of air. Blood pounded in my ears and my sides ached. I lay sprawled on the bench for several minutes, gasping and wheezing, my throat dry and raw.

_What have I done?_

I leaned back heavily on the stone wall, my breath still ragged and uneven, and tears pricking at my eyes. I was bruised, bloody, and in a great deal of pain. I wanted nothing more than my wounds bandaged and the note back in my pocket, undiscovered.

_But I ruined all that in one stupid moment._

Tears began to slowly trickle down my face, mingling with the grime that had accumulated during battle. I had ruined a perfectly good friendship and jeopardized my relationship with the others. I could not think of a single positive part of my life that I had not managed to damage or completely destroy with my foolish, selfish choice. I buried my face in my hands and tried to muffle the sobs that shook my shoulders. I had completely alienated myself.

Cool metal brushed up against my neck and I suddenly remembered: _Galadriel_. I clung to the rather irrational notion that she would hear me in my hour of need and come to my aid. I removed the necklace from underneath my shirt. The silver still shone brilliantly, despite the hardships it had endured since we left Lothlorien, the clear round stone bright and smooth against my abused fingers. I took the pendant between my fingers, and tried to concentrate.

_Please…_I thought, tears streaming down my cheeks, _if you're listening—I need help. I don't know what to do. Please…_ I waited for a moment, anticipating a calm, soothing voice to suddenly penetrate the tangles of my troubled mind and offer wise words of counsel.

_Please…_

But nothing happened.

I released the necklace and fell back against the wall, trembling with both panic and despair. I was completely, utterly, helplessly alone.

I sat for a long time, tears running down my cheeks, occasionally letting out a small sob that was quickly muffled with the aid of a handkerchief I found knotted up in my pocket. The wind was cool against my cheeks and the sunlight warmed my aching arms and legs with soothing rays.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the abandoned byways of the fortress. I tensed. The area I had chosen to occupy had been ignored by the survivors and I was thankful for the little solace it could provide. My heart beat rapidly as a familiar figure came into view.

Aragorn.

I relaxed slightly. Although I did not particularly want visitors, Aragorn and Gandalf were the lone exceptions to that rule. The Ranger entered the watchtower cautiously, sitting down quietly at the other end of the bench, regarding me with a probing stare.

"You should get those bandaged," he said after a moment of silence, nodding at my clasped hands. I looked at them for a moment. They were bruised and bloodied and two of my fingers were most likely broken, judging from the way they were swelling. I shrugged, averting my eyes from my grimy appendages.

"It can wait," I replied trying to avoid the Ranger's gaze. "How did you find me?" I asked, staring blankly at a nearby wall.

"You left quite a trail," he informed me, most likely referring to the people I had bowled over in my escape. I scolded myself for being so careless. There were several moments of uncomfortable silence. I took to studying the wall in detail in order to prevent myself from bursting into tears, wondering if my relationships with others would follow a similar awkward pattern.

"He is worried about you," he said, breaking the quiet. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I would be worried too if a friend or acquaintance gave me a note that revealed very personal information and then acted like a maniac and ran off when I tried to read it," I replied, still not taking my eyes off the wall.

"You ought to talk to him," the Ranger advised gently. I tore my eyes away from the wall and looked at him, trying to keep back the tears forming in my eyes.

"Did you read it?" I asked, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. He nodded.

"I did."

"Then you know why I can't," I replied, tears running down my cheeks, cooling with the wind's kiss. I wiped at my eyes with the handkerchief, trying to regain hold of my composure. Aragorn regarded me with a silent stare, as though he were trying to calculate something.

"I have seen you frightened before," he said after a moment. I shifted slightly, turning my eyes to the wall again. "Yet you found strength and prevailed."

"This isn't the same thing," I whispered, another tear trailing down my cheek. His lips quirked up in a small smile and he placed his hand gently on my shoulder.

"You say this after fighting what would have been a losing battle, showing very little despair even in the darkest hour, and yet you continue to remain frightened by what seems a rather trivial issue in comparison," he pointed out, his tone suggesting illogic on my part. I bit back more tears. He thought I had been relatively fearless in battle. He had obviously not been very receptive to the darker thoughts that had consumed my mind. I inhaled deeply and tried to keep my voice steady.

"I had honestly thought I was going to die today," I explained, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I thought the best thing to do was accept it and try to do what I could to make it better. I thought I made the right choice—I thought I was doing the right thing. I had nothing to lose." I swallowed, taking another deep breath. "But I've lost anything that note could have gained for me." Aragorn gripped my already bruised shoulder tightly and I winced.

"Nothing is lost," he said, his voice inflamed with a strong passion that seemed to arise from some secret part of his being, "until you stop fighting." His green eyes were insistent, darkening with an unknown emotion. "You are not one to give in so easily." To my intense relief, he released my shoulder, which was smarting painfully. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, partly from the physical pain of his declaration.

"There's nothing I can do," I replied weakly.

"You can talk to him," he suggested, his eyes gentler and more soothing then they had been a moment ago. "You are getting nothing accomplished sitting here."

I looked at him silently. I was safe where I was, free from scrutiny and the awkward conversations that would take place as result of my actions. I made no reply, looking helplessly at the Ranger.

"I have given you my counsel; the course you take is your decision," he said, rising to his feet. He gave me a somber look before departing, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

I sat for some time, reflecting and fighting back tears, chewing worriedly on my thumbnail. I didn't know what to do; Aragorn's advice was sensible, but required a strength I didn't have. Galadriel was suddenly (and suspiciously) unavailable. Both Arwen and Elrond were miles away. Gandalf was undoubtedly too busy to be bothered with my problems and I had a nagging suspicion that his advice would be similar, if not identical, to Aragorn's.

I sat up quickly as I realized something I had forgotten earlier.

Éowyn.

Éowyn was a woman, I reasoned with myself. She understands relationships. She would know what to do. Was she not facing a similar dilemma? I stood up, brushing off the back of my pants. Even if her situation was not entirely parallel to my own, she was smart and clear-headed. She would be able to help me, or at least give me some guidance.

I hastily wiped my tears with a handkerchief and tried to take a few calming breaths. I tucked my braid into the back of my shirt and pulled the hood of my cloak far over my head. With any luck, I wouldn't be recognized and I would be able to find Éowyn without subjecting myself to further questioning. I took one long, filling breath.

_I can do this…_I reassured myself. _Breathe. Just breathe._

I took a reluctant step forward.

_One_.

I exhaled sharply.

Another step. _Two._

My walk became more evenly paced as I went on, my breath slowing to a normal rate. I bent my head toward the ground as I walked, counting every step in order to distract myself from the intensified feeling of panic that shook my hands and made my knees wobble uncertainly.

_I can do this,_ I encouraged myself as I strode forward. _This is not a big deal. I can—_

My thoughts were interrupted as I collided with something rather solid. My first reaction was somewhere along the lines of "not another wall", but the object in question was not firm enough to be made of stone. I looked up, expecting to be confronted by Aragorn's familiar green eyes. Instead I gazed straight into two azure orbs, my mouth hanging open in mid-scold.

Panic seized me and my breath caught in my throat while various strings of profanity ran their course through my mind. The intense fear I had felt before was nothing in comparison. I would have been less frightened had I been looking down into the fiery cracks of hell itself. I lunged to the right, hoping to bypass him and avoid an uncomfortable and humiliating confrontation. A hand shot out and gripped my elbow tightly.

"I need to speak with you." His voice, calm as always, with a slight hint of insistence, fell sharply on my ears and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

"I can't right now," I replied, straining against his firm hold on my elbow.

"I need to speak with you," he repeated, his grip tightening as I tried to twist away. Realizing that my resistance was futile, I relaxed slightly, taking a deep breath before turning around.

"I'm sorry," I began quickly, looking more at the twisted handkerchief in my hands rather than at him, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks once again. "I was stupid—I didn't know what I was thinking or doing." I was nearly choking on my words now, fighting to keep myself under control.

"Haley—" he tried to interrupt.

"I don't know what to say to make this better," I continued. "I would leave here if I could, but I doubt travel is safe at this point." My stomach was a knot and I felt ill.

"Haley," he said quietly. "I would like to speak with you."

"Legolas, I don't want to discuss it!" I exclaimed, a tear escaping out of the corner of my eye. "If there was anything I could do take it back, I would. I was stupid and I regret it. There is nothing I want more than to just forget about it, to pretend it never happened."

He paused for a moment, his expression more unreadable than ever. He opened his palm and extended his hand, the white square of paper resting in the center. I took it from him, my hands shaking.

"As you wish," he said.

He turned and departed quickly and quietly.

I looked at the innocent paper in my hand as his footfalls faded. I had what I wanted, didn't I? I had the note back in my possession and he agreed to forget about it. Why did I feel so horrible?

I let my fingers close over the paper, a lone tear rolling slowly down my cheek.


	38. Chapter 38: Masquerade NEW!

Disclaimer: Although I probably own enough _Lord of the Rings_ paraphernalia to actually guarantee me rights to the material, no one has alerted me of this fact. Therefore, I would say I don't own it.

A/N: Well…it's almost been a year since Chapter 37 was posted (or something like that). I'm sorry. The delay was initially due to the craziness of my schedule, but as the months rolled on, it became more of an issue of writer's block. I couldn't summon up the will to write in this story, nor could I come up with new material. Granted, I knew (and still do) what was going to happen, but I had no motivation to put it to paper. Revisions also presented a problem because I found myself disagreeing with what I had written before. So…I shelved the story. I placed it in a corner of my mind and let it gather dust. Instead, I let other things occupy my time. In that time, several other stories were put to paper. But I couldn't just forget about TTAE (indeed, some of you made it incredibly difficult for me to forget)—because I still owe you a story…a story with an ending.

I was contemplating my dilemma after a really long nap. I had just been reflecting on a dream I had recently had. It was a nice dream, inasmuch as the Guy of the Moment had asked me out, which is always a good thing (until you wake up and grudgingly realize that the dream is not yet reality). But what was different about this dream was the tension. I didn't get together with this guy without some problems. Then, it suddenly hit me. I understood the source of my writer's block:

The ending for Chapter 37 didn't fit.

Granted, it was a pretty good ending. It resolved some conflict and both characters got what they wanted. But after thinking about it, I realized that although it was a good ending, it wasn't an ideal ending. I couldn't write any more because there simply wasn't much left for me to write about. So, after much deliberation, I decided to change it. Now, I'm not changing any fundamental parts of the story—Haley isn't going to suddenly realize her undying passion for Aragorn, but I am changing one very important part of the chapter. The ending is pretty different from the original. Although it is not going to alter the final course of the story, I think it will make the plot more interesting and make some of the relationships more realistic and complex than they originally were.

So, I guess I'm going to give it a go again. I'm still going to revise the other chapters…but I figure that first, you deserve an update in the form of Chapter 38. So…here it is. Happy (belated) Holidays, Happy New Year, and thank you for all the support.

**_NOTE: Do not read the following chapter UNLESS you have reread Chapter 37, which has been rewritten (with a different ending) as of _****_December 26, 2004_****_. Because otherwise it will be highly confusing, I promise you._**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Masquerade**

It was awhile before I could muster the courage to return to the battlefield.

The panicked feelings I had experienced mere moments before were replaced by a new kind of nervousness. At the time, I thought that it had gone as best as could be expected—he agreed to forget about it and I had the note back in my possession.

I had gotten the ending I wanted. Or, at least the best ending I could have expected, given the circumstances.

However, as I continued to reflect, the worse I felt. Pretending would not be as easy as I anticipated. How could I simply forget something as important as this? How could I pretend to have acted in haste and regret my actions when I knew what I was doing? How could I deny the hurt this was causing me?

I was always one to speak my mind. To be forced into this kind of silence would be little short of torture.

A distant shout broke me from my thoughts and I realized that I would have to go back out. I preferred the shelter of the deserted hall, but I knew that the only thing worse than returning outside would be cowering within Helm's Deep, frightened by something that I didn't want to visibly affect me.

I had asked for this. It was a bargain _I_ had made—and I was obligated to fulfill my end of it.

* * *

The sunlight was unforgiving, nearly blinding me as I stepped out into the daylight. I shielded my eyes as I carefully walked down a set of crumbling stairs. Soldiers were milling around, each focused on his respective task or errand. I sidestepped two men helping an injured comrade, and turned down a hallway that I knew would take me toward the causeway.

The causeway was strewn with corpses and in some places the stone was slick with blood. Men were already busy hauling off the enemy carcasses, throwing them into massive piles that would later be burned. Our own dead were taken more carefully from the field, destined for a more respectful burial.

I returned to the Deeping Wall and wandered in search of Aragorn. I found him not too far from the wall, accompanied by Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Théoden, Éomer, and some other advisors I did not recognize.

I swallowed and moved to join them.

I sidled up next to Aragorn, who looked at me carefully with a somewhat blank expression. I looked away and he sighed, almost disappointedly. My eyes involuntarily flicked over to Legolas. He nodded in greeting, as he would have at any other time.

The words echoed through my head almost mockingly: _as though nothing had happened._

"Haley," greeted Gandalf. "We depart for Isengard shortly. Will you be among our company?"

"Yes." I felt numb, as though I was simply observing the world, rather than taking any part in it. I had just agreed to journey to the lair of one of the wizard responsible for most of the atrocities committed against the citizens of Middle-earth. Any other time I would have been at least somewhat frightened, but instead I felt dazed, as though I had just come out of a coma.

"But first, you have wounds that need to be attended to," Aragorn said, gesturing to my fingers. "Come with me—I'll see that they're bandaged." He grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me away from the group.

* * *

I sat patiently as Aragorn examined my fingers in what was serving as a temporary hospital. There were men all around me with injuries much worse than my own and I felt somewhat silly because of it. It was like I had gone to the emergency room because of a paper cut—it was superfluous. Haldir lay among the wounded, though he was looking somewhat better than the last time I saw him. A white bandage was wrapped securely around his middle and he was being attended on by several Elves.

"You are very quiet," observed Aragorn as he rotated my left ring finger. I flinched. "This is broken," he stated. "As is this one." He gestured to my little finger.

"It was a long night," I replied as he examined a long cut on my forearm.

"That has not quelled your tongue before," he said.

"Must I always act the same way?" I asked.

"When you act contrary to your normal character, it leads others to believe something has happened to affect you in such a manner." He regarded me with a serious expression.

"You know what happened," I said quietly.

"I do not know what happened after I left."

"I asked him to pretend it never happened."

"Why?" He frowned in mild confusion.

"Because it was the one way to try to salvage what had already been damaged."

He looked at me pensively for a moment.

"A charade accomplishes nothing," he replied simply.

_I know_, I thought to myself.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said instead. "I did what I thought was best."

"Very well."

He finished splinting my fingers in silence.

* * *

We left for Isengard late in the afternoon, pausing to look east, toward Mordor. The sky above the mountains was fiery and turbulent; lightning flickering across clouds the color of ash. It was a somber landscape that seemed poisonous to merely look upon, much less dwell in.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift," Gandalf said as we came up the crest of a hill. "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness."

The battle for Middle-earth—greater things were now in motion. This was a turning point in history; this was _the_ battle of the ages. It made my situation look frightfully insignificant in comparison.

But it was, altogether, a wholly different battle.

"Come—we ride to Isengard. My senses tell me we may find alliance there," said the wizard, urging Shadowfax onward.

_Alliance_ I asked myself as I nudged Larien. _It seems like we're going directly into the hands of the enemy._ But despite my misgivings, I concluded that Gandalf most likely knew what he was doing.

At least I fervently hoped he did.

* * *

It took us little less than a day to reach the fortress of Saruman. The ride itself was wholly uneventful—I said little, being occupied with other matters. We rode through Fangorn, which was somewhat unsettling, as the forest itself had been responsible for the massacre of the rest of the Orc army. Gandalf did not seem overly perturbed by this and rode into the forest without concern, the rest of us following warily. The journey through the forest took most of the day and was mostly silent, save for Gandalf's booming voice, which echoed throughout the eerily silent forest. The trees seemed somewhat less hostile than the last time we had visited Fangorn, their anger evidently sated by the host of Orcs that had fled into their deadly shelter. Occasionally, I would hear a rumbling growl from a particularly ancient tree, but it would usually lower to a quiet grumble as we passed, which only made me feel slightly better.

We exited Fangorn as the last few rays of sunlight melted into the horizon and rode on until the moon was high in the sky, the small conversation occasionally interrupted by the howling of wolves. We made camp by the drained bed of the Isen River. In the darkness, I could see shapes of grasses and weeds that had since grown in the water's absence.

That night was one of the few that passed without a Sindarin lesson.

I sat with my back to the fire, my cloak wrapped snugly around my shoulders. I had been unable to rest since we set down camp and instead sat staring off into space, idly listening to the distant whisper of the trees. Every one of my thoughts seemed like a blur, a jumbled stream of words that made little or no sense, even in my addled brain.

Someone sat down beside me on the grass. The faint scent of pipe smoke and pine met my nostrils. It was a scent I recognized and associated with Gandalf. It was a comforting smell, one of the few parts that had not changed in his transformation into the White Wizard.

"I once told you to trust yourself," said Gandalf.

"I remember," I said softly, staring across the empty riverbed.

"I would have that you trusted yourself in all things," he replied, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I did what I thought was best," I said for the second time that day.

"The best course of action is not always the easiest," he pointed out, gently. I bristled and looked at him sharply.

"This isn't as easy as it seems," I replied, my tone somewhat clipped.

"No, no, of course not," he reassured me, shaking his head. "But the truth, no matter how difficult it may be, is often the best course of action." He paused. "And the truth is not always easy to tell."

I swallowed and looked away.

"I told the truth—I want to forget about it," I said quietly.

Gandalf exhaled slowly and rose from his seat. "Very well…but think on it."

* * *

The night passed relatively uneventfully, save for two disturbances late in the night. I had heard a rustling and creaking sound long before the watchmen starting shouting, but I had paid little attention to it, as it did not sound particularly threatening. There was a dark object creeping toward us on both sides of the river. The moon had since set and there were few stars, making the occurrence all the more eerie.

"Stay where you are!" shouted Gandalf. "Draw no weapons! Wait! And it will pass you by!"

It was a strange command and several of the watchmen muttered their displeasure at Gandalf's instructions. But all the same, they were unwilling to doubt the wizard and stood still as the darkness moved forward, a mist settling around us. It passed around us, the rustling and creaking noises filling the still air, accompanied by low voices.

And then I smiled to myself for the first time that day. Fangorn Forest had been discharged from service. Or, rather, it had discharged itself.

* * *

The second disturbance occurred shortly after the trees had departed. The sound of running water broke through the air and I could see the riverbed growing full again with water. Gandalf seemed very pleased.

"The Isen flows once again…this brings good tidings," he said with a smile, though he would explain no further, but his eyes sparkled enough to suggest news of great importance.

By dawn we were ready to move on. We rode in silence, for the most part, the landscape foreboding enough to silence most attempts at conversation. In a small way, I was glad, as I was left alone with my thoughts, which weren't exactly comforting, but it gave me some peace not to be troubled with idle chat.

By the time we reached Isengard, the sun had fully risen and was shining cheerfully down upon us. We had entered a small wood with old, twisted trees that were very reminiscent of Fangorn. They were, thankfully, much more agreeable than Fangorn and made very little noise as we rode through.

As the trees started to thin, I began to hear voices on the other side. Voices I recognized, but the idea seemed too far-fetched to even contemplate.

"…Putting my feet up on a settle after a hard day's work," said one as we drew closer, the lilt of his voice almost unmistakable.

"Only…you've never done a hard day's work!" replied the other, cheerfully. They both laughed together, a chorus that rang through the trees and made me smile hopefully. The trees suddenly gave way, revealing a tall, ebony tower surrounded by a wall that was very much dismantled, the inner courtyards flooded with water, debris scattered all over the place, whilst what appeared to be giant trees wandered amongst the mess. I did a minor double take. They were tree-like, that was for sure, but they were almost humanoid in shape and form, with long branches waving about like arms and their trunk split up the middle to form a pair of long legs.

However, the most unexpected individuals were standing upon the ruins of the wall, each with a long pipe in one hand and a mug of what appeared to be ale in the other.

Merry and Pippin—alive and well.

And, of course, smoking and drinking well before seven o'clock in the morning.

Pippin crowed with laughter as soon as he caught sight of us, raising his mug to the sky in a toast while Merry rose to his feet, pipe in hand and a smile on his face.

"Welcome, my lords," he bellowed, raising his arms in greeting.

"And my most gracious lady," added Pippin, nodding to me.

"…to Isengard!" finished Merry, gesturing to the ruin of a fortress behind him.

"You young rascals!" shouted Gimli once he was able to properly see the hobbits. "A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you feasting…and…and smoking!" I smiled in spite of myself.

"We are sitting on a field of victory," explained Pippin through a mouthful of bread, "enjoying a few well-earned comforts." Merry exhaled smoke through his mouth with a smug look. "The salted pork is _particularly_ good," added Pippin as an afterthought.

"Salted pork?" repeated Gimli, his irritation quickly abating and an interested smile taking its place.

"Hobbits," muttered Gandalf under his breath, looking as though the scene in front of him was something he should have expected. Aragorn laughed.

"We're under orders from Treebeard," said Merry, gesturing toward the destruction behind him, "who's taken over management of Isengard."

"Then we should hold counsel with this Treebeard," said Théoden, regarding the hobbits with a rather confused look.

"That is what I intend to do—accompanied by Master Took and Master Brandybuck," replied Gandalf. Merry and Pippin received this with a look of shock.

"But Gandalf, _someone_ needs to look after the supplies!" protested Pippin.

"And what better candidates than Pip and myself?" asked Merry.

"I imagine that when we return, we would find the supplies very much depleted," put in Aragorn. "Come, Pippin, you can ride with me and Merry with Haley."

Merry and Pippin obediently (but grudgingly) came down from the wall, but insisted that they take some of their haul along for safety purposes. This would explain how I came to have two barrels of pipe weed, a small wheel of cheese, and two bottles of wine in my saddlebags. Gimli suddenly became very concerned about Larien carrying too much weight and insisted that we allow him to carry the salted pork and the leg of lamb.

"It's good to have you both back with us," I said to Merry as Aragorn helped him onto the back of my saddle. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"It's good to be back," he replied. "You were all properly missed. Uruk-hai are hardly good company and Ents are tiresome after a few days."

"Ents?"

"Yes," said Merry. "They're kind, of course, but you can't have a decent conversation with one of 'em—they can be terribly slow."

"Who is this Treebeard?" I asked as we entered Isengard through the gap in the wall.

"Oh, you'll see, Miss Haley, you'll see," he replied, simply.

* * *

**A/N: Well…let me know what you think. There'll be more to come—I don't know when, but I will attempt to get the next ten chapters revised and posted in a timely fashion. And, of course, I'll be working on new chapters as well, but my goal is to get one new chapter up for every set of revised chapters posted. Feedback is welcome, as always.**


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